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RIENZI 

THE LAST OF THE 
ROMAN TRIBUNES 


A 


♦ 








The fierce Rienzi led on each assault 



RIENZI 

THE LAST OF THE 
ROMAN TRIBUNES 

By 

EDWARD BULWER LYTTON 


Illustrated by 

L. W. ZEIGLER 


3 i 


Charles Scribner’s Sons 
New York .... 1902 








Thllf ' U8RARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Comes Received 

AUG. 8 1902 

S '* RIGHT ENTRY 

l'L~t^O'U 

CL XXo. NO. 
llJtv 
COPY B. 


Copyright, 1902, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS. 


ALESSANDRO MANZONI 

AS 

TO THE GENIUS OF THE PLACE 

are ©edicated 
THESE FRUITS 

GATHERED ON 

THE SOIL OF ITALIAN FICTION 


London, Dec. i, 1835. 


vi 


PREFACE 


bon or Sismondi. But it is a view, in all its main 
features, which I believe (and I think I could prove) 
myself to be warranted in taking, not less by the 
facts of History than the laws of Fiction. In the 
meanwhile, as I have given the facts from which I 
have drawn my interpretation of the principal agent, 
the reader has sufficient data for his own judgment. 
In the picture of the Roman Populace, as in that of 
the Roman Nobles of the fourteenth century, I fol- 
low literally the descriptions left to us; — they are not 
flattering, but they are faithful, likenesses. 

Preserving generally the real chronology of Ri- 
enzi’s life, the plot of this work extends over a space 
of some years, and embraces the variety of characters 
necessary to a true delineation of events. The story, 
therefore, cannot have precisely that order of interest 
found in fictions strictly and genuinely dramatic , in 
which (to my judgment at least) the time ought to 
be as limited as possible, and the characters as few; 
— no new character of importance to the catastrophe 
being admissible towards the end of the work. If I 
may use the word Epic in its most modest and un- 
assuming acceptation, this Fiction, in short, though 
indulging in dramatic situations, belongs, as a whole, 
rather to the Epic than the Dramatic school. 

I cannot conclude without rendering the tribute of 
my praise and homage to the versatile and gifted Au- 
thor of the beautiful Tragedy of Rienzi. Considering 
that our hero be the same — considering that we had 
the same materials from which to choose our several 
stories — I trust I shall be found to have little, if at 
all, trespassed upon ground previously occupied. 
With the single exception of a love-intrigue between 
a relative of Rienzi and one of the antagonist party, 
which makes the plot of Miss Mitford’s Tragedy, and 
is little more than an episode in my Romance, having 
slight effect on the conduct and none on the fate 
of the hero, I am not aware of any resemblance be- 
tween the two works; and even this coincidence I 
could easily have removed, had I deemed it the least 


PREFACE 


vii 

advisable: — but it would be almost discreditable if I 
had nothing that resembled a performance possessing 
so much it were an honour to imitate. 

In fact, the prodigal materials of the story — the 
rich and exuberant complexities of Rienzi’s character 
— joined to the advantage possessed by the Novelist 
of embracing all that the Dramatist must reject * — 
are sufficient to prevent Dramatist and Novelist from 
interfering with each other. 

London, December i, 1835. 


*Thus the slender space permitted to the Dramatist does 
not allow Miss Mitford to be very faithful to facts ; to dis- 
tinguish between Rienzi’s earlier and his later period of power; 
or to detail the true, but somewhat intricate causes of his rise, 
his splendour, and his fall. 



PREFACE 


TO THE EDITION OF 1848 


From the time of its first appearance, “ Rienzi ” 
has had the good fortune to rank high amongst my 
most popular works — though its interest is rather 
drawn from a faithful narration of historical facts, 
than from the inventions of fancy. And the success 
of this experiment confirms me in my belief, that the 
true mode of employing history in the service of 
romance, is to study diligently the materials as his- 
tory; conform to such views of the facts as the Au- 
thor would adopt, if he related them in the dry char- 
acter of historian; and obtain that warmer interest 
which fiction bestows, by tracing the causes of the 
facts in the characters and emotions of the personages 
of the time. The events of his work are thus already 
shaped to his hand — the characters already created — 
what remains for him, is the inner, not outer, history 
of man — the chronicle of the human heart; and it is 
by this that he introduces a new harmony between 
character and event, and adds the completer solution 
of what is actual and true, by those speculations of 
what is natural and probable, which are out of the 
province of history, but belong especially to the philos- 
ophy of romance. And — if it be permitted the tale- 
teller to come reverently for instruction in his art to 
the mightiest teacher of all, who, whether in the page 
or on the scene, would give to airy fancies the breath 
and the form of life, — such, we may observe, is the les- 
son the humblest craftsman in historical romance may 
glean from the Historical Plays of Shakespeare. Neces- 
sarily, Shakespeare consulted history according to the 


IX 


xii 


PREFACE 


adapts his mind to the idea of human progress, and 
the active direction of mundane affairs; — a principality 
in which the peculiar sanctity that wraps the person of 
the Sovereign exonerates him from the healthful lia- 
bilities of a power purely temporal, and directly ac- 
countable to Man. A reforming Pope is a lucky acci- 
dent, and dull indeed must be the brain which believes 
in the possibility of a long succession of reforming 
Popes, or which can regard as other than precarious 
and unstable the discordant combination of a consti- 
tutional government with an infallible head. 

It is as true as it is trite that political freedom is not 
the growth of a day — it is not a flower without a 
stalk, and it must gradually develop itself amidst the 
unfolding leaves of kindred institutions. 

In one respect, the Austrian domination, fairly con- 
sidered, has been beneficial to the States over which 
it has been directly exercised, and may be even said 
to have unconsciously schooled them to the capacity 
for freedom. In those States the personal rights 
which depend on impartial and incorrupt administra- 
tion of the law, are infinitely more secure than in most 
of the Courts of Italy. Bribery, which shamefully pre- 
dominates in the judicature of certain Principalities, is 
as unknown in the juridical courts of Austrian Italy 
as in England. The Emperor himself is often involved 
in legal disputes with a subject, and justice is as free 
and as firm for the humblest suitor, as if his antagonist 
were his equal. Austria, indeed, but holds together 
the motley and inharmonious members of its vast 
domain on either side the Alps, by a general character 
of paternal mildness and forbearance in all that great 
circle of good government which lies without the one 
principle of constitutional liberty. It asks but of 
its subjects to submit to be well governed — without 
agitating the .question “how and by what means that 
government is carried on.” For every man except 
the politician, the innovator, Austria is no harsh step- 
mother. But it is obviously clear that the better in 
other respects the administration of a state, it does 


PREFACE 


xiii 


but foster the more the desire for that political secur- 
ity, which is only found in constitutional freedom: the 
reverence paid to personal rights but begets the pas- 
sion for political; and under a mild despotism are 
already half matured the germs of a popular constitu- 
tion. But it is still a grave question whether Italy is 
ripe for self-government — and whether, were it pos- 
sible that the Austrian domination could be shaken 
off — the very passions so excited; the very bloodshed 
so poured forth, would not ultimately place the 
larger portion of Italy under auspices less favour- 
able to the sure growth of freedom, than those 
which silently brighten under the sway of the Ger- 
man Caesar. 

The two kingdoms, at the opposite extremes of 
Italy, to which circumstance and nature seem to as- 
sign the main ascendancy, are Naples and Sardinia. 
Looking to the former, it is impossible to discover 
on the face of the earth a country more adapted for 
commercial prosperity. Nature formed it as the gar- 
den of Europe, and the mart of the Mediterranean. 
Its soil and climate could unite the products of the 
East with those of the Western hemisphere. The rich 
island of Sicily should be the great corn granary of the 
modern nations as it was of the ancient; the figs, 
the olives, the oranges of both the Sicilies, under skil- 
ful cultivation, should equal the produce of Spain and 
the Orient; and the harbours of the kingdom (the 
keys to three-quarters of the globe) should be crowded 
with the sails and busy with the life of commerce. 
But, in the character of its population, Naples has 
been invariably in the rear of Italian progress; it 
caught but partial inspiration from the free Republics, 
or even the wise Tyrannies, of the Middle Ages; the 
theatre of frequent revolutions without fruit; and all 
rational enthusiasm created by that insurrection, which 
has lately bestowed on Naples the boon of a repre- 
sentative system, cannot but be tempered by the con- 
viction that of all the States in Italy, this is the one 
which least warrants the belief of permanence to po- 


xiv 


PREFACE 


litical freedom, or of capacity to retain with vigour 
what may be seized by passion.* 

Far otherwise is it with Sardinia. Many years since, 
the writer of these pages ventured to predict that the 
time must come when Sardinia would lead the van 
of Italian civilisation, and take proud place amongst 
the greater nations of Europe. In the great portion 
of this population there is visible the new blood of 
a young race; it is not, as with other Italian states, 
a worn-out stock; you do not see there a people 
fallen, proud of the past, and lazy amidst ruins, but 
a people rising, practical, industrious, active; there, 
in a word, is an eager youth to be formed to mature 
development, not a decrepit age to be restored to 
bloom and muscle. Progress is the great character- 
istic of the Sardinian state. Leave it for five years; 
visit it again, and you behold improvement. When 
you enter the kingdom and find, by the very skirts 
of its admirable roads, a raised footpath for the pas- 
sengers and travellers from town to town, you become 
suddenly aware that you are in a land where close at- 
tention to the humbler classes is within the duties of a 
government. As you pass on from the more purely 

* If the Electoral Chamber in the new Neapolitan Constitu- 
tion give a fair share of members to the Island of Sicily, it 
will be rich in the inevitable elements of discord, and nothing 
save a wisdom and moderation, which cannot soberly be an- 
ticipated, can prevent the ultimate separation of the island 
from the dominion of Naples. Nature has set the ocean be- 
tween the two countries— but differences in character, and 
degree and quality of civilisation — national jealousies, histori- 
cal memories, have trebled the space of the seas that roll 
between them. — More easy to unite under one free Parliament, 
Spain with Flanders ; or re-annex to England its old domains 
of Aquitaine and Normandy — than to unite in one Council 
Chamber truly popular, the passions, interests, and prejudices 
of Sicily and Naples. — Time will show. And now, in May, 
1849 — Time has already shown the impracticability of the first 
scheme proposed for cordial union between Naples and Sicily, 
and has rendered it utterly impossible, by mutual recollections 
of hatred, bequeathed by a civil war of singular barbarism, 
that Naples should permanently retain Sicily by any other hold 
than the brute force of conquest. 


PREFACE 


xv 


Italian part of the population, — from the Genoese 
country into that of Piedmont, — the difference be- 
tween a new people and an old, on which I have dwelt, 
becomes visible in the improved cultivation of the soil, 
the better habitations of the labourer, the neater as- 
pect of the towns, the greater activity in the thor- 
oughfares. To the extraordinary virtues of the King, 
as King, justice is scarcely done, whether in England 
or abroad. Certainly, despite his recent concessions, 
Charles Albert is not and cannot be at heart, much 
of a constitutional reformer; and his strong religious 
tendencies, which, perhaps, unjustly, have procured 
him in philosophical quarters the character of a bigot, 
may link him more than his political, with the cause 
of the Father of his Church. But he is nobly and 
pre-eminently national, careful of the prosperity and 
jealous of the honour of his own state, while con- 
scientiously desirous of the independence of Italy. 
His attention to business, is indefatigable. Nothing 
escapes his vigilance. Over all departments of the 
kingdom is the eye of a man ever anxious to improve. 
Already the silk manufacturers of Sardinia almost rival 
those of Lyons: in their own departments the trades- 
men of Turin exhibit an artistic elegance and elabo- 
rate finish, scarcely exceeded in the wares of London 
and Paris. The King’s internal regulations are ad- 
mirable; his laws, administered with the most im- 
partial justice — his forts and defences are in that order, 
without which, at least on the Continent, no land is 
safe — his army is the most perfect in Italy. His wise 
genius extends itself to the elegant as to the useful 
arts — an encouragement that shames England, and 
even France, is bestowed upon the School for Painters, 
which has become one of the ornaments of his illus- 
trious reign. The character of the main part of the 
population, and the geographical position of his coun- 
try, assist the monarch and must force on himself, or 
his successors, in the career of improvement so sig- 
nally begun. In the character of the people, the 
vigour of the Northman ennobles the ardour and 


XVI 


PREFACE 


fancy of the West. In the position of the country, the 
public mind is brought into constant communication 
with the new ideas in the free lands of Europe. Civili- 
sation sets in direct currents towards the streets and 
marts of Turin. Whatever the result of the present 
crisis in Italy, no power and no chance which states- 
men can predict, can preclude Sardinia from ulti- 
mately heading all that is best in Italy. The King 
may improve his present position, or peculiar preju- 
dices, inseparable perhaps from the heritage of abso- 
lute monarchy, and which the raw and rude councils 
of an Electoral Chamber, newly called into life, must 
often irritate and alarm, may check his own progress 
towards the master throne of the Ausonian land. But 
the people themselves, sooner or later will do the 
work of the King. And in now looking round Italy 
for a race worthy of Rienzi, and able to accomplish 
his proud dreams, I see but one for which the time 
is ripe or ripening, and I place the hopes of Italy in 
the men of Piedmont and Sardinia. 


London, '.February 14, 1848. 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 
V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 


I. 

II. 


BOOK I 

The Time, the Place, and the Men 

PAGE 

The Brothers i 

An Historical Survey — Not to be Passed Over, 
Except by Those who Dislike to Understand 

what they Read 16 

The Brawl 22 

An Adventure 34 

The Description of a Conspirator, and the Dawn 
of the Conspiracy . . . . • . .52 

Irene in the Palace of Adrian di Castello . . 66 

Upon Love and Lovers 72 

The Enthusiastic Man Judged by the Discreet Man 75 
“ When the People Saw this Picture Every One 


Marvelled ” 81 

A Rough Spirit Raised, which may Hereafter Rend 

the Wizard . 86 

Nina di Raselli 92 

The Strange Adventures that Befell Walter de 
Montreal 102 


BOOK II 

The Revolution 

The Knight of Provence, and his Proposal . .112 

The Interview, and the Doubt 129 

xvii 


xviii CONTENTS 

CHAP. 

III. The Situation of a Popular Patrician in Times of 

Popular Discontent — Scene of the Lateran 

IV. The Ambitious Citizen, and the Ambitious Soldier 

V. The Procession of the Barons — The Beginning 

of the End 

VI. The Conspirator Becomes the Magistrate 

VII. Looking After the Halter when the Mare is Stolen 

VIII. The Attack — The Retreat — The Election — And the 
Adhesion 


BOOK III 

The Freedom Without Law 

I. The Return of Walter de Montreal to his Fortress 

II. The Life of Love and War — The Messenger of 
Peace — The Joust 

III. The Conversation between the Roman and the Pro- 
vencal— Adeline’s History— The Moonlit Sea— 
The Lute and the Song 


BOOK IV 

The Triumph and the Pomp 

I. The Boy Angelo— The Dream of Nina Fulfilled 

II. The Blessing of a Councillor whose Interests and 
Heart are Our Own— The Straws Thrown Up- 
ward— Do they Portend a Storm? 

III. The Actor Unmasked 

IV. The Enemy’s Camp .... 

V. The Night and its Incidents 

VI. The Celebrated Citation 

VII. The Festival 


PAGE 

135 

157 

172 

176 

181 

183 


194 

200 


223 


240 


257 

274 

281 

287 

299 

304 


CONTENTS 


xix 


BOOK V 


The Crisis 

CHAP. 

I. The Judgment of the Tribune 

II. The Flight .... 

III. The Battle .... 

IV. The Hollowness of the Base 

V. The Rottenness of the Edifice 

VI. The Fall of the Temple . 

VII. The Successors of an Unsuccessful Revolution— 
Who is to Blame — The Forsaken One or the 
Forsakers ? 


PAGE 

312 

323 

329 

342 

350 

358 


365 


BOOK VI 

The Plague 


I. The Retreat of the Lover 371 

II. The Seeker 375 

III. The Flowers Amidst the Tombs 389 

IV. We Obtain what we Seek and Know it Not . . 399 

V. The Error 405 


BOOK VII 

The Prison 

I. Avignon — The Two Pages — The Stranger Beauty 419 

II. The Character of a Warrior-Priest — An Interview 

— The Intrigue and Counter-Intrigue of Courts 430 

III. Holy Men — Sagacious Deliberations — Just Re- 

solves — And Sordid Motives to All . . . 438 

IV. The Lady and the Page 445 

V. The Inmate of the Tower 448 

VI. The Scent does Not Lie — The Priest and the 

Soldier 457 


XX 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

VII. Vaucluse and its Genius Loci — Old Acquaintance 

Renewed 460 

VIII. The Crowd— The Trial— The Verdict— The Sol- 
dier and the Page 467 

IX. Albornoz and Nina 47 1 


I. 

II. 

III. 


I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 


I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 


BOOK VIII 

The Grand Company 

The Encampment 480 

Adrian Once More the Guest of Montreal . . 493 

Faithful and Ill-Fated Love — The Aspirations Sur- 
vive the Affections 501 


BOOK IX 

The Return 

The Triumphal Entrance *..... 513 

The Masquerade 519 

Adrian’s Adventures at Palestrina .... 535 
The Position of the Senator — The Work of Years 
— The Rewards of Ambition .... 542 

The Biter Bit 553 

The Events Gather to the End zzj 


BOOK X 

The Lion of Basalt 

The Conjunction of Hostile Planets in the House 
of Death ^ 

Montreal at Rome — His Reception of Angelo 

Villani 566 

Montreal’s Banquet 372 

The Sentence pf Walter de Montreal . . .581 


CONTENTS xxi 

CHAP. PAGE 

V. The Discovery 588 

VI. The Suspense 594 

VII. The Tax 599 

VIII. The Threshold of the Event 603 

Chapter the Last: 

The Close of the Chase 609 


APPENDIX I 

Some Remarks on the Life and Character of Rienzi 623 


APPENDIX II 

A Word upon the Work by Pere du Cerceau and Pere 
Brumoy, Entitled “ Conjuration de Nicolas Ga- 
BRINI, DIT DE RiENZI, TYRAN DE ROME ” . . . 63I 












LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


The fierce Rienzi led on each assault . . . Frontispiece 

Facing 

page 

“For shame, my lord, for shame.” 44 

Forth issued Rienzi, clad in complete armour . . . .178 

I have fulfilled my part — I claim yours 476 





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RIENZI 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 

BOOK I 

THE TIME, THE PLACE, AND THE MEN 

“ Fuda sua gioventudine nutricato di latte di eloquenza; 
buono grammatico, megliore rettorico, autorista buono . . . 
Oh, come spesso diceva, ‘ Dove sono questi buoni Romani? 
Dove’e loro somma giustizia? Poterommi trovare in tempo 
che questi fioriscano?’ Era bell’omo . . . Accadde che uno 
suo frate fu ucciso, e non ne fu fatta vendetta di sua morte; 
non lo poteo aiutare; pensa lungo mano vendicare ’1 sangue 
di suo frate; pensa lunga mano dirizzare la cittate di Roma 
male guidata .” — Vita di Cola di Rienzi. Ed. 1828. Forli. 

“ From his youth he was nourished with the milk of elo- 
quence; a good grammarian, a better rhetorician, well versed 
in the writings of authors . . . Oh, how often would he say, 
* Where are those good Romans? Where is their supreme 
justice? Shall I ever behold such times as those in which 
they flourished? ’ He was a handsome man ... It hap- 
pened that a brother of his was slain, and no retribution was 
made for his death: he could not help him; long did he 
ponder how to avenge his brother’s blood; long did he 
ponder how to direct the misguided state of Rome .” — Life of 
Cola di Rienzi. 


CHAPTER I 

THE BROTHERS 

The celebrated name which forms the title to this 
work will sufficiently apprise the reader that it is in 
the earlier half of the fourteenth century that my story 
opens. 

It was on a summer evening that two youths might 
be seen walking beside the banks of the Tiber, not far 
from that part of its winding course which sweeps by 


1 


2 


RIENZI 


the base of Mount Aventine. The path they had se- 
lected was remote and tranquil. It was only at a dis- 
tance that were seen the scattered and squalid houses 
that bordered the river, from amidst which rose, dark 
and frequent, the high roof and enormous towers 
which marked the fortified mansion of some Roman 
baron. On one side of the river, behind the cottages 
of the fishermen, soared Mount Janiculum, dark with 
massive foliage, from which gleamed at frequent inter- 
vals, the gray walls of many a castellated palace, and 
the spires and columns of a hundred churches ; on the 
other side, the deserted Aventine rose abrupt and 
steep, covered with thick brushwood; while, on the 
height, from concealed but numerous convents, rolled, 
not unmusically, along the quiet landscape and the 
rippling waves, the sound of the holy bell. 

Of the young men introduced in this scene, the 
elder, who might have somewhat passed his twen- 
tieth year, was of a tall and even commanding 
stature ; and there was that in his presence remarkable 
and almost noble, despite the homeliness of his garb, 
which consisted of the long, loose gown and the plain 
tunic, both of dark-gray serge, which distinguished, at 
that time, the dress of the humbler scholars who fre- 
quented the monastery for such rude knowledge as 
then yielded a scanty return for intense toil. His 
countenance was handsome, and would have been 
rather gay than thoughtful in its expression, but for 
that vague and abstracted dreaminess of eye whith so 
usually denotes a propensity to reverie and contempla- 
tion, and betrays that the past or the future is more 
congenial to the mind than the enjoyment and action 
of the present hour. 

The younger, who was yet a boy, had nothing strik- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


3 


ing in his appearance or countenance, unless an ex- 
pression of great sweetness and gentleness could be 
so called; and there was something almost feminine 
in the tender deference with which he appeared to 
listen to his companion. His dress was that usually 
worn by the humbler classes, though somewhat neater, 
perhaps, and newer ; and the fond vanity of a mother 
might be detected in the care with which the long and 
silky ringlets had been smoothed and parted as they 
escaped from his cap and flowed midway down his 
shoulders. 

As they thus sauntered on, beside the whispering 
reeds of the river, each with his arm round the form 
of his comrade, there was a grace in the bearing, in 
the youth, and in the evident affection of the brothers 
— for such their connection — which elevated the lowli- 
ness of their apparent condition. 

“ Dear brother,” said the elder, “ I cannot express 
to thee how I enjoy these evening hours. To you 
alone I feel as if I were not a mere visionary and idler 
when I talk of the uncertain future, and build up my 
palaces of the air. Our parents listen to me as if I 
were uttering fine things out of a book ; and my dear 
mother, Heaven bless her! wipes her eyes, and says, 

‘ Hark, what a scholar he is ! * As for the monks, if 
I ever dare look from my Livy, and cry, * Thus should 
Rome be again ! ’ they stare, and gape, and frown, as 
though I had broached an heresy. But you, sweet 
brother, though you share not my studies, sympathise 
so kindly with all their results — you seem so to ap- 
prove my wild schemes, and to encourage my ambi- 
tious hopes — that sometimes I forget our birth, our 
fortunes, and think and dare as if no blood save that 
of the Teuton Emperor flowed through our veins.” 


4 


RIENZI 


“ Methinks, dear Cola/’ said the younger brother, 
“ that Nature played us an unfair trick — to you she 
transmitted the royal soul, derived from our father’s 
parentage ; and to me only the quiet and lowly spirit 
of- my mother’s humble lineage.” 

“ Nay,” answered Cola, quickly, “ you would then 
have the brighter share, — for I should have but the 
Barbarian origin, and you the Roman. Time was, 
when to be a simple Roman was to be nobler than a 
northern king. — Well, well, we may live to see great 
changes ! ” 

“ I shall live to see thee a great man, and that will 
content me,” said the younger, smiling affectionately : 
“ a great scholar all confess you to be already : our 
mother predicts your fortunes every time she hears of 
your welcome visits to the Colonna.” 

“ The Colonna ! ” said Cola, with a bitter smile ; 
“ the Colonna — the pedants ! — They affect, dull souls, 
the knowledge of the past, play the patron, and mis- 
quote Latin over their cups ! They are pleased to 
welcome me at their board, because the Roman doc- 
tors call me learned, and because Nature gave me a 
wild wit, which to them is pleasanter than the stale 
jests of a hired buffoon. Yes, they would advance my 
fortunes — but how? by some place in the public of- 
fices, which would fill a dishonoured coffer, by wring- 
ing, yet more sternly, the hard earned coins from our 
famishing citizens! If there be a vile thing in the 
world, it is a plebeian, advanced by patricians, not for 
the purpose of righting his own order, but for playing 
the pander to the worst interests of theirs. He who 
is of the people but makes himself a traitor to his birth, 
if he furnishes the excuse for these tyrant hypocrites 
to lift up their hands and cry — * See what liberty exists 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


5 


in Rome, when we, the patricians, thus elevate a 
plebeian ! ’ Did they ever elevate a plebeian if he 
sympathised with plebeians? No, brother; should 
I be lifted above our condition, I will be raised by 
the arms of my countrymen, and not upon their 
necks.” 

“ All I hope, is, Cola, that you will not, in your zeal 
for your fellow-citizens, forget how dear you are to us. 
No greatness could ever reconcile me to the thought 
that it brought you danger.” 

“ And I could laugh at all danger, if it led to great- 
ness ! But greatness — greatness ! Vain dream ! Let 
us keep it for our night sleep. Enough of my plans ; 
now, dearest brother, of yours.” 

And, with the sanguine and cheerful elasticity which 
belonged to him, the young Cola, dismissing all wilder 
thoughts, bent his mind to listen, and to enter into, 
the humbler projects of his brother. The new boat 
and the holiday dress, and the cot removed to a quarter 
more secure from the oppression of the barons, and 
such distant pictures of love as a dark eye and a merry 
lip conjure up to the vague sentiments of a boy; — to 
schemes and aspirations of which such objects made 
the limit, did the scholar listen, with a relaxed brow 
and a tender smile ; and often, in later life, did that 
conversation occur to him, when he shrank from ask- 
ing his own heart which ambition was the wiser. 

“ And then,” continued the younger brother, “ by 
degrees I might save enough to purchase such a vessel 
as that which we now see, laden, doubtless, with corn 
and merchandise, bringing — oh, such a good return — 
that I could fill your room with books, and never hear 
you complain that you were not rich enough to pur- 
chase some crumbling old monkish manuscript. Ah, 


6 


RIENZI 


that would make me so happy ! ” Cola smiled as he 
pressed his brother closer to his breast. 

“ Dear boy,” said he, “ may it rather be mine to 
provide for your wishes! Yet methinks the masters 
of yon vessel have no enviable possession; see how 
anxiously the men look round, and behind, and be- 
fore : peaceful traders though they be, they fear, 
it seems, even in this city (once the emporium of the 
civilised world), some pirate in pursuit ; and ere the 
voyage be over, they may find that pirate in a Roman 
noble. Alas, to what are we reduced ! ” 

The vessel thus referred to was speeding rapidly 
down the river, and some three or four armed men 
on deck were indeed intently surveying the quiet 
banks on either side, as if anticipating a foe. The 
bark soon, however, glided out of sight, and the broth- 
ers fell back upon those themes which require only 
the future for a text to become attractive to the young. 

At length, as the evening darkened, they remem- 
bered that it was past the usual hour in which they 
returned home, and they began to retrace their steps. 

“ Stay,” said Cola, abruptly, “ how talk has beguiled 
me ! Father Uberto promised me a rare manuscript, 
which the good friar confesses hath puzzled the whole 
convent. I was to seek his cell for it this evening. 
Tarry here a few minutes, it is but half-way up the 
Aventine. I shall soon return.” 

“ Can I not accompany you ? ” 

“ Nay,” returned Cola, with considerate kindness, 
“ you have borne toil all the day, and must be wearied ; 
my labours, of the body, at least, have been light 
enough. You are delicate, too, and seem fatigued 
already; the rest will refresh you. I shall not be 
long.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


7 


The boy acquiesced, though he rather wished to 
accompany his brother ; but he was of a meek and 
yielding temper, and seldom resisted the lightest com- 
mand of those he loved. He sat him down on a little 
bank by the river-side, and the firm step and towering 
form of his brother were soon hid from his gaze by 
the thick and melancholy foliage. 

At first he sat very quietly, enjoying the cool air, 
and thinking over all the stories of ancient Rome that 
his brother had told him in their walk. At length he 
recollected that his little sister, Irene, had begged him 
to bring her home some flowers ; and, gathering such 
as he could find at hand (and many a flower grew, 
wild and clustering, over that desolate spot), he again 
seated himself, and began weaving them into one of 
those garlands for which the southern peasantry still 
retain their ancient affection, and something of their 
classic skill. 

While the boy was thus engaged, the tramp of 
horses and the loud shouting of men were heard at a 
distance. They came near, and nearer. 

“ Some baron’s procession, perhaps, returning from 
a feast,” thought the boy. “ It will be a pretty sight 
— their white plumes and scarlet mantles ! I love to 
see such sights, but I will just move out of their way.” 

So, still mechanically platting his garland, but with 
eyes turned towards the quarter of the expected pro- 
cession, the young Roman moved yet nearer towards 
the river. 

Presently the train came in view, — a gallant com- 
pany, in truth ; horsemen in front, riding two abreast, 
where the path permitted, their steeds caparisoned su- 
perbly, their plumes waving gaily, and the gleam of 
their corselets glittering through the shades of the 


8 


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dusky twilight. A large and miscellaneous crowd, all 
armed, some with pikes and mail, others with less war- 
like or worse fashioned weapons, followed the cava- 
liers ; and high above plume and pike floated the blood- 
red banner of the Orsini, with the motto and device (in 
which was ostentatiously displayed the Guelfic badge 
of the keys of St. Peter) wrought in burnished gold. 
A momentary fear crossed the boy’s mind, for at that 
time, and in that city, a nobleman begirt with his 
swordsmen was more dreaded than a wild beast by 
the plebeians ; but it was already too late to fly — the 
train were upon him. 

“ Ho, boy ! ” cried the leader of the horsemen, Mar- 
tino di Porto, one of the great House of the Orsini; 
“ hast thou seen a boat pass up the river ? — But thou 
must have seen it — how long since ? ” 

“ I saw a large boat about half an hour ago,” an- 
swered the boy, terrified by the rough voice and im- 
perious bearing of the cavalier. 

“ Sailing right a-head, with a green flag at the 
stern ? ” 

“ The same, noble sir.” 

“ On, then ! we will stop her course ere the moon 
rise,” said the baron. “ On ! — let the boy go with us, 
lest he prove traitor, and alarm the Colonna.” 

“An Orsini, an Orsini!” shouted the multitude; 
“ on > on • ” an( h despite the prayers and remonstrances 
of the boy, he was placed in the thickest of the crowd, 
and borne, or rather dragged along with the rest — 
frightened, breathless, almost weeping, with his poor 
little garland still hanging on his arm, while a sling 
was thrust into his unwilling hand. Still he felt, 
through all his alarm, a kind of childish curiosity to 
see the result of the pursuit. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


9 


By the loud and eager conversation of those about 
him, he learned that the vessel he had seen contained 
a supply of corn destined to a fortress up the river 
held by the Colonna, then at deadly feud with the 
Orsini; and it was the object of the expedition in 
which the boy had been thus lucklessly entrained to 
intercept the provision, and divert it to the garrison of 
Martino di Porto. This news somewhat increased his 
consternation, for the boy belonged to a family that 
claimed the patronage of the Colonna. 

Anxiously and tearfully he looked with every mo- 
ment up the steep ascent of the Aventine ; but his 
guardian, his protector, still delayed his appearance. 

They had now proceeded some way, when a wind- 
ing in the road brought suddenly before them the 
object of their pursuit, as, seen by the light of the 
earliest stars, it scudded rapidly down the stream. 

“ Now, the Saints be blest ! ” quoth the chief ; il she 
is ours ! ” 

“ Hold ! ” said a captain (a German) riding next to 
Martino, in a half whisper ; “ I hear sounds which I 
like not, by yonder trees — hark ! the neigh of a horse ! 
— by my faith, too, there is the gleam of a corselet.” 

“ Push on, my masters,” cried Martino ; “ the heron 
shall not balk the eagle — push on ! ” 

With renewed shouts, those on foot pushed forward, 
till, as they had nearly gained the copse referred to 
by the German, a small compact body of horsemen, 
armed cap-a-pie, dashed from amidst the trees, and, 
with spears in their rests, charged into the ranks of 
the pursuers. 

“ A Colonna ! a Colonna ! ” “ An Orsini ! an Or- 

sini ! ” were shouts loudly and fiercely interchanged. 
Martino di Porto, a man of great bulk and ferocity, 


IO 


RIENZI 


and his cavaliers, who were chiefly German Mercena- 
ries, met the encounter unshaken. “ Beware the bear’s 
hug,” cried the Orsini, as down went his antagonist, 
rider and steed, before his lance. 

The contest was short and fierce ; the complete 
armour of the horsemen protected them on either side 
from wounds, — not so unscathed fared the half-armed 
foot-followers of the Orsini, as they pressed, each 
pushed on by the other, against the Colonna. After 
a shower of stones and darts, which fell but as hail- 
stones against the thick mail of the horsemen, they 
closed in, and, by their number, obstructed the move- 
ments of the steeds, while the spear, sword, and battle- 
axe of their opponents made ruthless havoc amongst 
their undisciplined ranks. And Martino, who cared 
little how many of his mere mob were butchered, see- 
ing that his foes were for the moment embarrassed by 
the wild rush and gathering circle of his foot train 
(for the place of conflict, though wider than the pre- 
vious road, was confined and narrow), made a sign to 
some of his horsemen, and was about to ride forward 
towards the boat, now nearly out of sight, when a 
bugle at some distance was answered by one of his 
enemy at hand ; and the shout of “ Colonna to the 
rescue ! ” was echoed afar off. A few moments 
brought in view a numerous train of horse at full 
speed, with the banners of the Colonna waving gal- 
lantly in the front. 

“ A plague on the wizards ! who would have imag- 
ined they had divined us so craftily ! ” muttered Mar- 
tino ; “ we must not abide these odds ; ” and the hand 
he had first raised for advance, now gave the signal 
of retreat. 

, Serried breast to breast and in complete order, the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 1 1 

horsemen of Martino turned to fly; the foot rabble 
who had come for spoil remained but for slaughter. 
They endeavoured to imitate their leaders ; but how 
could they all elude the rushing chargers and sharp 
lances of their antagonists, whose blood was heated 
by the affray, and who regarded the lives at their 
mercy as a boy regards the wasp’s nest he destroys. 
The crowd dispersing in all directions, — some, indeed, 
escaped up the hills, where the footing was imprac- 
ticable to the horses ; some plunged into the river and 
swam across to the opposite bank, — those less cool or 
experienced, who fled right onwards, served, by clog- 
ging the way of their enemy, to facilitate the flight of 
their leaders, but fell themselves, corpse upon corpse, 
butchered in the unrelenting and unresisted pursuit. 

“ No quarter to the ruffians — every Orsini slain is 
a robber the less — strike for God, the Emperor, and 
the Colonna ! ” such were the shouts which rung the 
knell of the dismayed and falling fugitives. Among 
those who fled onward, in the very path most ac- 
cessible to the cavalry, was the young brother of Cola, 
so innocently mixed with the affray. Fast he fled, 
dizzy with terror — popr boy, scarce before ever parted 
from his parents’ or his brother’s side ! — the trees 
glided past him — the banks receded : — on he sped, 
and fast behind came the tramp of the hoofs — the 
shouts — the curses — the fierce laughter of the foe, as 
they bounded over the dead and the dying in their 
path. He was now at the spot in which his brother 
had left him ; hastily he glanced behind, and saw the 
couched lance and horrent crest of the horseman close 
at his rear; despairingly he looked up, and, behold! 
his brother bursting through the tangled brakes that 
clothed the mountain, and bounding to his succor. 


12 


RIENZI 


“ Save me ! save me, brother ! ” he shrieked aloud, 
and the shriek reached Cola’s ear ; — the snort of the 
fiery charger breathed hot upon him ; — a moment 
more, and with one wild shrill cry of “ Mercy, mercy,” 
he fell to the ground — a corpse : the lance of the pur- 
suer passing through and through him, from back to 
breast, and nailing him on the very sod where he had 
sate, full of young life and careless hope, not an hour 
ago. 

The horseman plucked forth his spear, and passed 
on in pursuit of new victims; his comrades following. 
Cola had descended, — was on the spot, — kneeling by 
his murdered brother. Presently, to the sound of 
horn and trumpet, came by a nobler company than 
most of those hitherto engaged ; who had been, indeed, 
but the advanced-guard of the Colonna. At their 
head rode a man in years, whose long white hair 
escaped from his plumed cap and mingled with his 
venerable beard. “ How is this ? ” said the chief, rein- 
ing in his steed, “ young Rienzi ! ” 

The youth looked up, as he heard that voice, and 
then flung himself before the steed of the old noble, 
and, clasping his hands, cried out in a scarce articulate 
tone : “ It is my brother, noble Stephen, — a boy, a 
mere child ! — the best — the mildest ! See how his 
blood dabbles the grass ; — back, back — your horse’s 
hoofs are in the stream ! Justice, my Lord, justice ! — 
you are a great man.” 

“ Who slew him ? an Orsini, doubtless ; you shall 
have justice.” 

“ Thanks, thanks,” murmured Rienzi, as he tottered 
once more to his brother’s side, turned the boy’s face 
from the grass, and strove wildly to feel the pulse of 
his heart; he drew back his hand hastily, for it was 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 13 

crimsoned with blood, and lifting that hand on high, 
shrieked out again, “ Justice ! justice ! ” 

The group round the old Stephen Colonna, hard- 
ened as they were in such scenes, were affected by 
the sight. A handsome boy, whose tears ran fast 
down his cheeks, and who rode his palfrey close by 
the side of the Colonna, drew forth his sword. “ My 
Lord,” said he, half sobbing, “ an Orsini only could 
have butchered a harmless lad like this; let us lose 
not a moment, — let us on after the ruffians.” 

“ No, Adrian, no ! ” cried Stephen, laying his hand 
on the boy’s shoulder ; “ your zeal is to be lauded, but 
we must beware an ambush. Our men have ventured 
too far — what ho, there ! — sound a return.” 

The bugles, in a few minutes, brought back the 
pursuers, — among them, the horseman whose spear 
had been so fatally misused. He was the leader 
of those engaged in the conflict with Martino di 
Porto ; and the gold wrought into his armour, with 
the gorgeous trappings of his charger, betokened his 
rank. 

“ Thanks, my son, thanks,” said the old Colonna to 
this cavalier, “ you have done well and bravely. But 
tell me, knowest thou, for thou hast an eagle eye, 
which of the Orsini slew this poor boy ? — a foul deed ; 
his family, too, our clients ! ” 

“ Who ? yon lad ? ” replied the horseman, lifting the 
helmet from his head, and wiping his heated brow; 
“ say you so ! how came he, then, with Martino’s ras- 
cals? I fear me the mistake hath cost him dear. I 
could but suppose him of the Orsini rabble, and so — 
and so ” 

“ You slew him ! ” cried Rienzi, in a voice of thun- 
der, starting from the ground. “ Justice! then, my 


14 


RIENZI 


Lord Stephen, justice ! you promised me justice, and 
I will have it ! ” 

“ My poor youth,” said the old man, compassion- 
ately, “ you should have had justice against the Orsini ; 
but see you not this has been an error? I do not 
wonder you are too grieved to listen to reason now. 
We must make this up to you.” 

“ And let this pay for masses for the boy’s soul : I 
grieve me much for the accident,” said the younger 
Colonna, flinging down a purse of gold. “ Ay, see us 
at the palace next week, young Cola — next week. 
My father, we had best return towards the boat; its 
safeguard may require us yet.” 

“ Right, Gianni ; stay, some two of you, and see to 
the poor lad’s corpse ; — a grievous accident ! how 
could it chance? ” 

The company passed back the way they came, two 
of the common soldiers alone remaining, except the 
boy Adrian, who lingered behind a few moments, 
striving to console Rienzi, who, as one bereft of sense, 
remained motionless, gazing on the proud array as it 
swept along, and muttering to himself, “ Justice, jus- 
tice ! I will have it yet.” 

The loud voice of the elder Colonna summoned 
Adrian, reluctantly and weeping, away. “ Let me be 
your brother,” said the gallant boy, affectionately 
pressing the scholar’s hand to his heart ; “ I want a 
brother like you.” 

Rienzi made no reply ; he did not heed or hear 
him — dark and stern thoughts, thoughts in which were 
the germ of a mighty revolution, were at his heart. 
He woke from them with a start, as the soldiers were 
now arranging their bucklers so as to make a kind of 
bier for the corpse, and then burst into tears as he 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


15 


fiercely motioned them away, and clasped the clay to 
his breast till he was literally soaked with the oozing 
blood. 

The poor child’s garland had not dropped from his 
arm even when he fell, and, entangled by his dress, it 
still clung around him. It was a sight that recalled to 
Cola all the gentleness, the kind heart, and winning 
graces of his only brother — his only friend ! It was 
a sight that seemed to make yet more inhuman the 
untimely and unmerited fate of that innocent boy. 
“ My brother ! my brother ! ” groaned the survivor ; 
“ how shall I meet our mother ? — how shall I meet 
even night and solitude again? — so young, so harm- 
less! See ye, sirs, he was but too gentle. And they 
will not give us justice, because his murderer was a 
noble and a Colonna. And this gold, too — gold for a 
brother’s blood ! Will they not ” — and the young 
man’s eyes glared like fire — “ will they not give us jus- 
tice ? Time shall show ! ” So saying, he bent his head 
over the corpse ; his lips muttered, as with some prayer 
or invocation ; and then rising, his face was as pale as 
the dead beside him, — but it was no longer pale with 
grief! 

From that bloody clay, and that inward prayer, Cola 
di Rienzi rose a new being. With his young brother 
died his own youth. But for that event, the future 
liberator of Rome might have been but a dreamer, a 
scholar, a poet ; the peaceful rival of Petrarch ; a man 
of thoughts, not deeds. But. from that time, all his 
faculties, energies, fancies, genius, became concen- 
trated into a single point ; and patriotism, before a 
vision, leapt into the life and vigour of a passion, last- 
ingly kindled, stubbornly hardened, and awfully con- 
secrated, — by revenge ! 


1 6 


RIENZI 


CHAPTER II 

AN HISTORICAL SURVEY — NOT TO BE PASSED OVER, 
EXCEPT BY THOSE WHO DISLIKE TO UNDERSTAND 
WHAT THEY READ 

Years had passed away, and the death of the Roman 
boy, amidst more noble and less excusable slaughter, 
was soon forgotten, — forgotten almost by the parents 
of the slain, in the growing fame and fortunes of their 
eldest son, — forgotten and forgiven never by that son 
himself. But, between that prologue of blood, and 
the political drama which ensues, — between the fading 
interest, as it were, of a dream, and the more busy, 
actual, and continuous excitements of sterner life, — 
this may be the most fitting time to place before the 
reader a short and rapid outline of the state and cir- 
cumstances of that city in which the principal scenes 
of this story are laid ; — an outline necessary, perhaps, 
to many, for a full comprehension of the motives of 
the actors, and the vicissitudes of the plot. 

Despite the miscellaneous and mongrel tribes that 
had forced their settlements in the City of the Caesars, 
the Roman population retained an inordinate notion 
of their own supremacy over the rest of the world ; 
and, degenerated from the iron virtues of the Repub- 
lic, possessed all the insolent and unruly turbulence 
which characterised the Plebs of the ancient Forum. 
Amongst a ferocious, yet not a brave populace, the 
nobles supported themselves less as sagacious tyrants 
than as relentless banditti. The popes had struggled 
in vain against these stubborn and stern patricians. 
Their state derided, their command defied, their per- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


17 


sons publicly outraged, the pontiff-sovereigns of the 
rest of Europe resided, at the Vatican, as prisoners 
under terror of execution. When, thirty-eight years 
before the date of the events we are about to witness, 
a Frenchman under the name of Clement V., had 
ascended the chair of St. Peter, the new pope, with 
more prudence than valour, had deserted Rome for the 
tranquil retreat of Avignon ; and the luxurious town 
of a foreign province became the court of the Roman 
pontiff, and the throne of the Christian Church. 

Thus deprived of even the nominal check of the 
papal presence, the power of the nobles might be said 
to have no limits, save their own caprice, or their 
mutual jealousies and feuds. Though arrogating 
through fabulous genealogies their descent from the 
ancient Romans, they were, in reality, for the most 
part, the sons of the bolder barbarians of the North ; 
and, contaminated by the craft of Italy, rather than 
imbued with its national affections, they retained the 
disdain of their foreign ancestors for a conquered soil 
and- a degenerate people. While the rest of Italy, 
especially in Florence, in Venice, and in Milan, was 
fast and far advancing beyond -the other states of 
Europe in civilisation and in art, the Romans appeared 
rather to recede than to improve ; — unblest by laws, 
unvisited by art, strangers at once to the chivalry of 
a warlike, and the graces of a peaceful people. But 
they still possessed the sense and desire of liberty, 
and, by ferocious paroxysms and desperate struggles, 
sought to vindicate for their city the title it still 
assumed of “ the Metropolis of the World.” For the 
last two centuries they had known various revolu- 
tions, — brief, often bloody, and always unsuccessful. 
Still, there was the empty pageant of a popular form 


i8 


RIENZI 


of government. The thirteen quarters of the city 
named each a chief ; and the assembly of these magis- 
trates, called Caporioni, by theory possessed an author- 
ity they had neither the power nor the courage to 
exert. Still there was the proud name of Senator; 
but, at the present time, the office was confined to one 
or to two persons, sometimes elected by the pope, 
sometimes by the nobles. The authority attached to 
the name seems to have had no definite limit; it was 
that of a stern dictator, or an indolent puppet, accord- 
ing as he who held it had the power to enforce the dig- 
nity he assumed. It was never conceded but to nobles, 
and it was by the nobles that all the outrages were 
committed. Private enmity alone was gratified when- 
ever public justice was invoked : and the vindication 
of order was but the execution of revenge. 

Holding their palaces as the castles and fortresses 
of princes, each asserting his own independency of all 
authority and law, and planting fortifications, and 
claiming principalities in the patrimonial territories 
of the Church, the barons of Rome made their 
state still more secure, and still more odious, by the 
maintenance of troops of foreign (chiefly of German) 
mercenaries, at once braver in disposition, more 
disciplined in service, and more skilful in arms, 
than even the freest Italians of that time. Thus they 
united the judicial and the military force, not for 
the protection, but for the ruin of Rome. Of these 
barons, the most powerful were the Orsini and 
Colonna; their feuds were hereditary and incessant, 
and every day witnessed the fruits of their lawless war- 
fare, in bloodshed, in rape, and in conflagration. The 
flattery or the friendship of Petrarch, too credulous- 
ly believed by modern historians, has invested the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


l 9 


Colonna, especially of the date now entered upon, with 
an elegance and a dignity not their own. Outrage, 
fraud, and assassination, a sordid avarice in securing 
lucrative offices to themselves, an insolent oppression 
of their citizens, and the most dastardly cringing to 
power superior to their own (with but few exceptions), 
mark the character of the first family of Rome. But, 
wealthier than the rest of the barons, they were, there- 
fore, more luxurious, and, perhaps, more intellectual; 
and their pride was flattered in being patrons of those 
arts of which they could never have become the pro- 
fessors. From these multiplied oppressors the Ro- 
man citizens turned with fond and impatient regret 
to their ignorant and dark notions of departed liberty 
and greatness. They confounded the times of the 
Empire with those of the Republic ; and often looked 
to the Teutonic king, who obtained his election from 
beyond the Alps, but his title of emperor from the 
Romans, as the deserter of his legitimate trust and 
proper home ; vainly imagining that, if both the 
Emperor and the Pontiff fixed their residence in 
Rome, Liberty and Law would again seek their nat- 
ural shelter beneath the resuscitated majesty of the 
Roman people. 

The absence of the pope and the papal court served 
greatly to impoverish the citizens ; and they had suf- 
fered yet more visibly by the depredations of hordes 
of robbers, numerous and unsparing, who infested 
Romagna, obstructing all the public ways, and were, 
sometimes secretly, sometimes ‘openly, protected by 
the barons, who often recruited their banditti garri- 
sons by banditti soldiers. 

But besides the lesser and ignobler robbers, there 
had risen in Italy a far more formidable description 


20 


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of freebooters. A German, who assumed the lofty 
title of the Duke Werner, had, a few years prior to the 
period we approach, enlisted and organised a consider- 
able force, styled “ The Great Company,” with which 
he besieged cities and invaded states, without any 
object less shameless than that of pillage. His exam- 
ple was soon imitated: numerous “ Companies,” simi- 
larly constituted, devastated the distracted and divided 
land. They appeared, suddenly raised, as if by magic, 
before the walls of a city, and demanded immense 
sums as the purchase of peace. Neither tyrant nor 
commonwealth maintained a force sufficient to resist 
them ; and if other northern mercenaries were engaged 
to oppose them, it was only to recruit the standards 
of the freebooters with deserters. Mercenary fought 
not mercenary — nor German, German : and greater 
pay, and more unbridled rapine, made the tents of the 
“ Companies ” far more attractive than the regulated 
stipends of a city, or the dull fortress and impoverished 
coffers of a chief. Werner, the most implacable and 
ferocious of all these adventurers, and who had so 
openly gloried in his enormities as to wear upon his 
breast a silver plate, engraved with the words, 
“ Enemy to God, to Pity, and to Mercy,” had not long 
since ravaged Romagna with fire and sword. But, 
whether induced by money, or unable to control the 
fierce spirits he had raised, he afterwards led the bulk 
of his company back to Germany. Small detach- 
ments, however, remained, scattered throughout the 
land, waiting only an able leader once more to re-unite 
them : amongst those who appeared most fitted for 
that destiny was Walter de Montreal, a Knight of St. 
John, and gentleman of Provence, whose valour and 
military genius had already, though yet young, raised 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


21 


his name into dreaded celebrity; and whose ambition, 
experience, and sagacity, relieved by certain chivalric 
and noble qualities, were suited to enterprises far 
greater and more important than the violent depreda- 
tions of the atrocious Werner. From these scourges, no 
state had suffered more grievously than Rome. The 
patrimonial territories of the pope, — in part wrested 
from him by petty tyrants, in part laid waste by these 
foreign robbers, — yielded but a scanty supply to the 
necessities of Clement VI., the most accomplished gen- 
tleman and the most graceful voluptuary of his time; 
and the good father had devised a plan, whereby to 
enrich at once the Romans and their pontiff. 

Nearly fifty years before the time we enter upon, in 
order both to replenish the papal coffers and pacify 
the starving Romans, Boniface VIII. had instituted 
the Festival of the Jubilee, or Holy Year; in fact a 
revival of a Pagan ceremonial. A plenary indulgence 
was promised to every Catholic, who, in that year, and 
in the first year of every succeeding century, should 
visit the churches of St. Peter and St. Paul. An im- 
mense concourse of pilgrims, from every part of 
Christendom, had attested the wisdom of the inven- 
tion : “ and two priests stood night and day, with rakes 
in their hands, to collect without counting the heaps 
of gold and silver that were poured on the altar of St. 
Paul.” 

It is not to be wondered at that this most lucrative 
festival should, ere the next century was half expired, 
appear to a discreet pontiff to be too long postponed. 
And both pope and city agreed in thinking it might 
well bear a less distant renewal. Accordingly, Clement 
VI. had proclaimed, under the name of the Mosaic 
Jubilee, a second Holy Year for 1350— viz., three 


22 


RIENZI 


years distant from that date at which, in the next chap- 
ter, my narrative will commence. This circumstance 
had a great effect in whetting the popular indignation 
against the barons, and preparing the events I shall 
relate ; for the roads were, as I before said, infested 
by the banditti, the creatures and allies of the barons. 
And if the roads were not cleared, the pilgrims might 
not attend. It was the object of the pope’s vicar, 
Raimond, bishop of Orvietto (bad politician and good 
canonist), to seek, by every means, to remove all im- 
pediment between the offerings of devotion and the 
treasury of St. Peter. 

Such, in brief, was the state of Rome at the period 
we are about to examine. Her ancient mantle of 
renown still, in the eyes of Italy and of Europe, 
cloaked her ruins. In name, at first she was still the 
queen of the earth ; and from her hands came the 
crown of the emperor of the north, and the keys of 
the father of the church. Her situation was precisely 
that which presented a vast and glittering triumph to 
bold ambition, — an inspiring, if mournful, spectacle to 
determined patriotism, — and a fitting stage for that 
more august tragedy which seeks its incidents, selects 
its actors, and shapes its moral, amidst the vicissitudes 
and crimes of nations. 


CHAPTER III 

THE BRAWL 

On an evening in April, 1347, and in one of those 
wide spaces in which Modern and Ancient Rome 
seemed blent together — equally desolate and equally 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


23 


in ruins — a miscellaneous and indignant populace 
were assembled. That morning the house of a 
Roman jeweller had been forcibly entered and pil- 
laged by the soldiers of Martino di Porto, with a dar- 
ing effrontery which surpassed even the ordinary 
licence of the barons. The sympathy and sensation 
throughout the city were deep and ominous. 

“ Never will I submit to this tyranny ! ” 

“ Nor I ! ” 

“ Nor I ! ” 

“ Nor, by the bones of St. Peter, will I ! ” 

“ And what, my friends, is this tyranny to which you 
will not submit ? ” said a young nobleman, addressing 
himself to the crowd of citizens who, heated, angry, 
half-armed, and with the vehement gestures of Italian 
passion, were now sweeping down the long and nar- 
row street that led to the gloomy quarter occupied by 
the Orsini. 

“ Ah, my lord ! ” cried two or three of the citizens 
in a breath, “ you will right us — you will see justice 
done to us — you are a Colonna.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! ” laughed scornfully one man of 
gigantic frame, and wielding on high a huge ham- 
mer, indicative of his trade. “ Justice and Colonna! 
body of God ! those names are not often found to- 
gether.” 

“ Down with him ! down with him ! he is an Orsi- 
nist, — down with him ! ” cried at least ten of the 
throng : but no hand was raised against the giant. 

“ He speaks the truth,” said a second voice, firmly. 

“ Ay, that doth he,” said a third, knitting his brows, 
and unsheathing his knife, “ and we will abide by it. 
The Orsini are tyrants — and the Colonnas are, at the 
best, as bad.” 


24 


RIENZI 


“ Thou liest in thy teeth, ruffian ! ” cried the young 
noble, advancing into the press and confronting the 
last asperser of the Colonna. 

Before the flashing eye and menacing gesture of 
the cavalier, the worthy brawler retreated some steps, 
so as to leave an open space between the towering 
form of the smith, and the small, slender, but vigorous 
frame of the young noble. 

Taught from their birth to despise the courage of 
the plebeians, even while careless of much reputation 
as to their own, the patricians of Rome were not unac- 
customed to the rude fellowship of these brawls ; nor 
was it unoften that the mere presence of a noble suf- 
ficed to scatter whole crowds, that had the moment 
before been breathing vengeance against his order and 
his house. 

Waving his hand, therefore, to the smith, and 
utterly unheeding either his brandished weapon or his 
vast stature, the young Adrian di Castello, a distant 
kinsman of the Colonna, haughtily bade him give way. 

“ To your homes, friends ! and know,” he added, 
with some dignity, “ that ye wrong us much, if ye 
imagine we share the evil-doings of the Orsini, or are 
pandering solely to our own passions in the feud be- 
tween their house and ours. May the Holy Mother 
so judge me,” continued he, devoutly lifting up his 
eyes, “ as I now with truth declare, that it is for your 
wrongs, and for the wrongs of Rome, that I have 
drawn this sword against the Orsini.” 

“ So say all the tyrants,” rejoined the smith, hardily, 
as he leant his hammer against a fragment of stone — 
some remnant of ancient Rome — “ they never fight 
against each other, but it is for our good. One 
Colonna cuts me the throat of Orsini’s baker — it is for 


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25 


our good ! another Colonna seizes on the daughter of 
Orsini’s tailor — it is for our good ! our good — yes, for 
the good of the people ! — the good of the bakers and 
tailors, eh ? ” 

“ Fellow,” said the young nobleman, gravely, “ if a 
Colonna did thus, he did wrong ; but the holiest cause 
may have bad supporters.” 

“ Yes, the holy Church itself is propped on very 
indifferent columns,” answered the smith, in a rude 
witticism on the affection of the pope for the Colonna. 

“ He blasphemes ! the smith blasphemes ! ” cried the 
partisans of that powerful house. “ A Colonna, a 
Colonna ! ” 

“ An Orsini, an Orsini ! ” was no less promptly the 
counter cry. 

“ The People ! ” shouted the smith, waving his for- 
midable weapon far above the heads of the group. 

In an instant the whole throng, who had at first 
united against the aggression of one man, were divided 
by the hereditary wrath of faction. At the cry of 
Orsini, several new partisans hurried to the spot ; the 
friends of the Colonna drew themselves on one side — 
the defenders of the Orsini on the other — and the few 
who agreed with the smith that both factions were 
equally odious, and the people was the sole legitimate 
cry in a popular commotion, would have withdrawn 
themselves from the approaching melee, if the smith 
himself, who was looked upon by them as an authority 
of great influence, had not — whether from resentment 
at the haughty bearing of the young Colonna, or from 
that appetite of contest not uncommon in men of a 
bulk and force which assure them in all personal 
affrays the lofty pleasure of superiority — if, I say, the 
smith himself had not, after a pause of indecision, 


26 


RIENZI 


retired among the Orsini, and entrained, by his exam- 
ple, the alliance of his friends with the favourers of that 
faction. 

In popular commotions, each man is whirled along 
with the herd, often half against his own approbation 
or assent. The few words of peace by which Adrian 
di Castello commenced an address to his friends were 
drowned amidst their shouts. Proud to find in their 
ranks one of the most beloved, and one of the noblest 
of that name, the partisans of the Colonna placed him 
in their front, and charged impetuously on their foes. 
Adrian, however, who had acquired from circum- 
stances something of that chivalrous code which he 
certainly could not have owed to his Roman birth, dis- 
dained at first to assault men among whom he recog- 
nised no equal, either in rank or the practice of arms. 
He contented himself with putting aside the few 
strokes that were aimed at him in the gathering confu- 
sion of the conflict — few ; for those who recognised 
him, even amidst the bitterest partisans of the Orsini, 
were not willing to expose themselves to the danger 
and odium of spilling the blood of a man, who, in addi- 
tion to his great birth and the terrible power of his 
connexions, was possessed of a personal popularity, 
which he owed rather to a comparison with the vices 
of his relatives than to any remarkable virtues hitherto 
displayed by himself. The smith alone, who had as 
yet taken no active part in the fray, seemed to gather 
himself up in determined opposition as the cavalier 
now advanced within a few steps of him. 

“ Did we not tell thee,” quoth the giant, frowning, 
“ that the Colonna were, not less than the Orsini, the 
foes of the people ? Look at thy followers and clients : 
are they not cutting the throats of humble men by 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


27 

way of vengeance for the crime of a great one ? But 
that is the way one patrician always scourges the inso- 
lence of another. He lays the rod on the backs of the 
people, and then cries, ‘ See how just I am!’” 

“ I do not answer thee now/’ answered Adrian ; 
“ but if thou regretest with me this waste of blood, join 
with me in attempting to prevent it.” 

“ I — not I ! let the blood of the slaves flow to-day : 
the time is fast coming when it shall be washed away 
by the blood of the lords.” 

“ Away, ruffian ! ” said Adrian, seeking no further 
parley, and touching the smith with the flat side of his 
sword. In an instant the hammer of the smith swung 
in the air, and, but for the active spring of the young 
noble, would infallibly have crushed him to the earth. 
Ere the smith could gain time for a second blow, 
Adrian’s sword passed twice through his right arm, 
and the weapon fell heavily to the ground. 

“ Slay him, slay him ! ” cried several of the clients of 
the Colonna, now pressing, dastard-like, round the 
disarmed and disabled smith. 

“ Ay, slay him! ” said, in tolerable Italian, but with 
a barbarous accent, one man, half-clad in armour, who 
had but just joined the group, and who was one of 
those wild German bandits whom the Colonna held 
in their pay ; “ he belongs to a horrible gang of mis- 
creants sworn against all order and peace. He is one 
of Rienzi’s followers, and, bless the Three Kings! 
raves about the People.” 

“ Thou sayest right, barbarian,” said the sturdy 
smith, in a loud voice, and tearing aside the vest from 
his breast with his left hand ; “ come all — Colonna and 
Orsini — dig to this heart with your sharp blades, and 
when you have reached the centre, you will find there 


28 


RIENZI 


the object of your common hatred — ‘ Rienzi and the 
People ! ’ ” 

As he uttered these words, in language that would 
have seemed above his station (if a certain glow and 
exaggeration of phrase and sentiment were not com- 
mon, when excited, to all the Romans), the loudness 
of his voice rose above the noise immediately round 
him, and stilled, for an instant, the general din ; and 
when, at last, the words, “ Rienzi and the People,” 
rang forth, they penetrated midway through the in- 
creasing crowd, and were answered as by an echo, 
with a hundred voices — “ Rienzi and the People ! ” 

But whatever impression the words of the mechanic 
made on others, it was equally visible in the young 
Colonna. At the name of Rienzi the glow of excite- 
ment vanished from his cheek ; he started back, mut- 
tered to himself, and for a moment seemed, even in 
the midst of that stirring commotion, to be lost in a 
moody and distant reverie. He recovered, as the 
shout died away ; and saying to the smith, in a low 
tone, “Friend, I am sorry for thy wound; but seek 
me on the morrow, and thou shalt find thou hast 
wronged me ; ” he beckoned to the German to follow 
him, and threaded his way through the crowd, which 
generally gave back as he advanced. For the bitterest 
hatred to the order of the nobles was at that time in 
Rome mingled with a servile respect for their persons, 
and a mysterious awe of their uncontrollable power. 

As Adrian passed through that part of the crowd 
in which the fray had not yet commenced, the mur- 
murs that followed him were not those which many 
of his race could have heard. 

“ A Colonna,” said one. 

“ Yet no ravisher,” said another, laughing wildly. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


29 


“ Nor murtherer,” muttered a third, pressing his 
hand to his breast. “ ’Tis not against him that my 
father’s blood cries aloud.” 

“ Bless him,” said a fourth, “ for as yet no man 
curses him ! ” 

“ Ah, God help us ! ” said an old man, with a long 
gray beard, leaning on his staff : “ the serpent’s young 
yet ; the fangs will show by and by.” 

“ For shame, father! he is a comely youth, and not 
proud in the least. What a smile he hath ! ” quoth a 
fair matron, who kept on the outskirt of the melee. 

“ Farewell to a man’s honour when a noble smiles 
on his wife ! ” was the answer. 

" Nay,” said Luigi, a jolly butcher, with a roguish 
eye, “ what a man can win fairly from maid or wife, 
that let him do, whether plebeian or noble — that’s my 
morality ; but when an ugly old patrician finds fair 
words will not win fair looks, and carries me off a 
dame on the back of a German boar, with a stab in the 
side for comfort to the spouse, — then I say, he is a 
wicked man, and an adulterer.” 

While such were the comments and the murmurs 
that followed the noble, very different were the looks 
and words that attended the German soldier. 

Equally, nay, with even greater promptitude, did 
the crowd make way at his armed and heavy tread; 
but not with looks of reverence : — the eye glared as he 
approached ; but the cheek grew pale — the head 
bowed — the lip quivered ; each man felt a shudder of 
hate and fear, as recognising a dread and mortal foe. 
And well and wrathfully did the fierce mercenary note 
the signs of the general aversion. He pushed on 
rudely — half-smiling in contempt, half-frowning in 
revenge, as he looked from side to side ; and his long, 


30 


RIENZI 


matted, light hair, tawny-coloured moustache, and 
brawny front, contrasted strongly with the dark eyes, 
raven locks, and slender frames of the Italians. 

“ May Lucifer double damn those German cut- 
throats ! ” muttered, between his grinded teeth, one of 
the citizens. 

“ Amen ! ” answered, heartily, another. 

“ Hush ! ” said a third, timorously looking round ; 
“ if one of them hear thee, thou art a lost man.” 

“ Oh, Rome ! Rome ! to what art thou fallen ! ” said 
bitterly one citizen, clothed in black, and of a higher 
seeming than the rest ; “ when thou shudderest in thy 
streets at the tread of a hired barbarian ! ” 

“ Hark to one of our learned men, and rich citi- 
zens ! ” said the butcher, reverently. 

“ Tis a friend of Rienzi’s,” quoth another of the 
group, lifting his cap. 

With downcast eyes, and a face in which grief, 
shame, and wrath were visibly expressed, Pandulfo di 
Guido, a citizen of birth and repute, swept slowly 
through the crowd, and disappeared. 

Meanwhile, Adrian, having gained a street which, 
though in the neighbourhood of the crowd, was empty 
and desolate, turned to his fierce comrade. “ Rodolf ! ” 
said he, “ mark ! — no violence to the citizens. Return 
to the crowd, collect the friends of our house, with- 
draw them from the scene ; let not the Colonna be 
blamed for this day’s violence ; and assure our fol- 
lowers, in my name, that I swear, by the knighthood 
I received at the Emperor’s hands, that by my sword 
shall Martino di Porto be punished for his outrage. 
Fain would I, in person, allay the tumult, but my pres- 
ence only seems to sanction it. Go — thou hast weight 
with them all.” 


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3i 


“ Ay, signor, the weight of blows ! ” answered the 
grim soldier. “ But the command is hard ; I would 
fain let their puddle-blood flow an hour or two longer. 
Yet, pardon me; in obeying thy orders, do I obey 
those of my master, thy kinsman? It is old Stephen 
Colonna, — who seldom spares blood or treasure, God 
bless him — (save his own ! ) — whose money I hold, 
and to whose hests I am sworn.” 

“ Diavolo ! ” muttered the cavalier, and the angry 
spot was on his cheek ; but, with the habitual self-con- 
trol of the Italian nobles, he smothered his rising 
choler, and said aloud, with calmness, but dignity, — 

“ Do as I bid thee ; check this tumult, — make us the 
forbearing party. Let all be still within one hour 
hence, and call on me to-morrow for thy reward; be 
this purse an earnest of my future thanks. As for 
my kinsman, whom I command thee to name more 
reverently, ’tis in his name I speak. Hark! the din 
increases — the contest swells — go — lose not another 
moment.” 

Somewhat awed by the quiet firmness of the patri- 
cian, Rodolf nodded, without answer, slid the money 
into his bosom, and stalked away into the thickest of 
the throng. But, even ere he arrived, a sudden reac- 
tion had taken place. 

The young cavalier, left alone in that spot, followed 
with his eyes the receding form of the mercenary, as 
the sun, now setting, shone slant upon his glittering 
casque, and said bitterly to himself — “ Unfortunate 
city, fountain of all mighty memories — fallen queen of 
a thousand nations — how art thou decrowned and 
spoiled by thy recreant and apostate children! Thy 
nobles divided against themselves — thy people cursing 
thy nobles — thy priests, who should sow peace, plant- 


32 


RIENZI 


ing discord — the father of thy church deserting thy 
stately walls, his home a refuge, his mitre a fief, his 
court a Gallic village — and we! we, of the haughtiest 
blood of Rome — we, the sons of Caesars, and of the 
lineage of demigods, guarding an insolent and ab- 
horred state by the swords of hirelings, who mock our 
cowardice while they receive our pay, — who keep our 
citizens slaves, and lord it over their very masters in 
return! Oh, that we, the hereditary chiefs of Rome, 
could but feel — oh, that we could but find, our only 
legitimate safeguard in the grateful hearts of our 
countrymen ! ” 

So deeply did the young Adrian feel the galling truth 
of all he uttered, that the indignant tears rolled down 
his cheeks as he spoke. He felt no shame as he dashed 
them away ; for that weakness which weeps for a fallen 
race, is the tenderness not of women but of angels. 

As he turned slowly to quit the spot, his steps were 
suddenly arrested by a loud shout : “ Rienzi ! Rienzi ! ” 
smote the air. From the walls of the Capitol to the 
bed of the glittering Tiber, that name echoed far and 
wide; and, as the shout died away, it was swallowed 
up in a silence so profound, so universal, so breathless, 
that you might have imagined that death itself had 
fallen over the city. And now, at the extreme end of 
the crowd, and elevated above their level, on vast frag- 
ments of stone which had been dragged from the ruins 
of Rome in one of the late frequent tumults between 
contending factions, to serve as a barricade for citizens 
against citizens, — on these silent memorials of the past 
grandeur, the present misery, of Rome, stood that 
extraordinary man, who, above all his race, was the 
most penetrated with the glories of the one time, with 
the degradation of the other. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


33 


From the distance at which he stood from the scene, 
Adrian could only distinguish the dark outline of 
Rienzi’s form ; he could only hear the faint sound of his 
mighty voice ; he could only perceive, in the subdued 
yet waving sea of human beings that spread around, 
their heads bared in the last rays of the sun, the unut- 
terable effect which an eloquence, described by con- 
temporaries almost as miraculous, — but in reality less 
so from the genius of the man than the sympathy of 
the audience, — created in all, who drank into their 
hearts and souls the stream of its burning thoughts. 

It was but for a short time that that form was visible 
to the earnest eye, that that voice at intervals reached 
the straining ear, of Adrian di Castello ; but that time 
sufficed to produce all the effect which Adrian him- 
self had desired. 

Another shout, more earnest, more prolonged than 
the first — a shout, in which spoke the release of swell- 
ing thoughts, of intense excitement — betokened the 
close of the harangue ; and then you might see, after a 
minute’s pause, the crowd breaking in all directions, 
and pouring down the avenues in various knots and 
groups, each testifying the strong and lasting impres- 
sion made upon the multitude by that address. Every 
cheek was flushed — every tongue spoke : the anima- 
tion of the orator had passed, like a living spirit, into 
the breasts of the audience. He had thundered 
against the disorders of the patricians, yet, by a word, 
he had disarmed the anger of the plebeians — he had 
preached freedom, yet he had opposed licence. He 
had calmed the present, by a promise of the future. 
He had chid their quarrels, yet had supported their 
cause. He had mastered the revenge of to-day, by a 
solemn assurance that there should come justice for 


3 


34 


RIENZI 


the morrow. So great may be the power, so mighty 
the eloquence, so formidable the genius, of one man, — 
without arms, without rank, without sword or ermine, 
who addresses himself to a people that is oppressed. 


CHAPTER IV 

AN ADVENTURE 

Avoiding the broken streams of the dispersed crowd, 
Adrian Colonna strode rapidly down one of the nar- 
row streets leading to his palace, which was situated 
at no inconsiderable distance from the place in which 
the late contest had occurred. The education of his 
life made him feel a profound interest, not only in the 
divisions and disputes of his country, but also in the 
scene he had just witnessed, and the authority exer- 
cised by Rienzi. 

An orphan of a younger, but opulent branch of the 
Colonna, Adrian had been brought up under the care 
and guardianship of his kinsman, that astute, yet 
valiant Stephen Colonna, who, of all the nobles of 
Rome, was the most powerful, alike from the favour 
of the pope, and the number of armed hirelings whom 
his wealth enabled him to maintain. Adrian had early 
manifested what in that age was considered an extraor- 
dinary disposition towards intellectual pursuits, and 
had acquired much of the little that was then known of 
the ancient language and the ancient history of his 
country. 

Though Adrian was but a boy at the time in which, 
first presented to the reader, he witnessed the emotions 
of Rienzi at the death of his brother, his kind heart had 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


35 


been penetrated with sympathy for Cola’s affliction, 
and shame for the apathy of his kinsmen at the result 
of their own feuds. He had earnestly sought the 
friendship of Rienzi, and, despite his years, had be- 
come aware of the power and energy of his character. 
But though Rienzi, after a short time, had appeared to 
think no more of his brother’s death — though he again 
entered the halls of the Colonna, and shared their dis- 
dainful hospitalities, he maintained a certain distance 
and reserve of manner, which even Adrian could only 
partially overcome. He rejected every offer of serv- 
ice, favour, or promotion ; and any unwonted proof of 
kindness from Adrian seemed, instead of making him 
more familiar, to offend him into colder distance. The 
easy humour and conversational vivacity which had 
first rendered him a welcome guest with those who 
passed their lives between fighting and feasting, had 
changed into a vein ironical, cynical, and severe. But 
the dull barons were equally amused at his wit, and 
Adrian was almost the only one who detected the ser- 
pent couched beneath the smile. 

Often Rienzi sat at the feast, silent, but observant, 
as if watching every look, weighing every word, taking 
gauge and measurement of the intellect, policy, tem- 
perament, of every guest ; and when he had seemed 
to satisfy himself, his spirits would rise, his words flow, 
and while his dazzling but bitter wit lit up the revel, 
none saw that the unmirthful flash was the token of 
the coming storm. But all the while, he neglected 
no occasion to mix with the humbler citizens, to stir 
up their minds, to inflame their imaginations, to kindle 
their emulation, with pictures of the present and with 
legends of the past. He grew in popularity and 
repute, and was yet more in power with the herd, be- 


RIENZI 


36 

cause in favour with the nobles. Perhaps it was for 
that reason that he had continued the guest of the 
Colonna. 

When, six years before the present date, the Capitol 
of the Caesars witnessed the triumph of Petrarch, the 
scholastic fame of the young Rienzi had attracted 
the friendship of the poet, — a friendship that con- 
tinued, with slight interruption, to the last, through 
careers so widely different ; and afterwards, one among 
the Roman deputies to Avignon, he had been con- 
joined with Petrarch * to supplicate Clement VI. to 
remove the Holy See from Avignon to Rome. It was 
in this mission that, for the first time, he evinced his 
extraordinary powers of eloquence and persuasion. 
The pontiff, indeed, more desirous of ease than glory, 
was not convinced by the arguments, but he was 
enchanted with the pleader; and Rienzi returned to 
Rome, loaded with honours, and clothed with the dig- 
nity of high and responsible office. No longer the 
inactive scholar, the gay companion, he rose at once 
to pre-eminence above all his fellow-citizens. Never 
before had authority been borne with so austere an 
integrity, so uncorrupt a zeal. He had sought to im- 
pregnate his colleagues with the same loftiness of 
principle — he had failed. Now secure in his footing, 
he had begun openly to appeal to the people; and 
already a new spirit seemed to animate the populace 
of Rome. 

While these were the fortunes of Rienzi, Adrian had 
been long separated from him, and absent from Rome. 

* According to the modern historians; but it seems more 
probable that Rienzi’s mission to Avignon was posterior to 
that of Petrarch. However this be, it was at Avignon that 
Petrarch and Rienzi became most intimate, as Petrarch him- 
self observes in one of his letters. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


37 


The Colonna were staunch supporters of the im- 
perial party and Adrian di Castello had received and 
obeyed an invitation to the Emperor’s Court. Under 
that monarch he had initiated himself in arms, and, 
among the knights of Germany, he had learned to 
temper the natural Italian shrewdness with the chiv- 
alry of northern valour. 

In leaving Bavaria, he had sojourned a short time 
in the solitude of one of his estates by the fairest lake 
of northern Italy ; and thence, with a mind improved 
alike by action and study, had visited many of the 
free Italian states, imbibed sentiments less prejudiced 
than those of his order, and acquired an early reputa- 
tion for himself while inly marking the characters and 
deeds of others. In him, the best qualities of the 
Italian noble were united. Passionately addicted to 
the cultivation of letters, subtle and profound in policy, 
gentle and bland of manner, dignifying a love of pleas- 
ure with a certain elevation of taste, he yet possessed 
a gallantry of conduct, and purity of honour, and an 
aversion from cruelty, which were then very rarely 
found in the Italian temperament, and which even the 
Chivalry of the North, while maintaining among them- 
selves, usually abandoned the moment they came into 
contact with the systematic craft and disdain of hon- 
esty, which made the character of the ferocious, yet 
wily, South. With these qualities, he combined, in- 
deed, the softer passions of his countrymen, — he 
adored Beauty, and he made a deity of Love. 

He had but a few weeks returned to his native city, 
whither his reputation had already preceded him, and 
where his early affection for letters and gentleness of 
bearing were still remembered. He returned to find 
the position of Rienzi far more altered than his own. 


RIENZI 


38 

Adrian had not yet sought the scholar. He wished 
first to judge with his own eyes, and at a distance, of 
the motives and object of his conduct; for partly he 
caught the suspicions which his own order entertained 
of Rienzi, and partly he shared in the trustful enthu- 
siasm of the people. 

“ Certainly,” said he now to himself, as he walked 
musingly onward, “ certainly, no man has it more in 
his power to reform our diseased state, to heal our 
divisions, to awaken our citizens to the recollections of 
ancestral virtue. But that very power, how danger- 
ous is it ! Have I hot seen, in the free states of Italy, 
men, called into authority for the sake of preserving 
the people, honest themselves at first, and then, drunk 
with the sudden rank, betraying the very cause which 
had exalted them? True, those men were chiefs and 
nobles; but are plebeians less human? Howbeit I 
have heard and seen enough from afar, — I will now 
approach, and examine the man himself.” 

While thus soliloquising, Adrian but little noted the 
various passengers, who, more and more rarely as the 
evening waned, hastened homeward. Among these 
were two females, who now alone shared with Adrian 
the long and gloomy street into which he had entered. 
The moon was already bright in the heavens, and, as 
the women passed the cavalier with a light and quick 
step, the younger one turned back and regarded him 
by the clear light with an eager, yet timid glance. 

“ Why dost thou tremble, my pretty one ? ” said her 
companion, who might have told some five-and-forty 
years, and whose garb and voice bespoke her .of in- 
ferior rank to the younger female. “ The streets seem 
quiet enough now, and, the Virgin be praised ! we are 
not so far from home either.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


39 

“ Oh ! Benedetta, it is he! it is the young signor — it 
is Adrian ! ” 

“ That is fortunate,” said the nurse, for such was 
her condition, “ since they say he is as bold as a North- 
man: and as the Palazzo Colonna is not very far from 
hence, we shall be within reach of his aid should we 
want it: that is to say, sweet one, if you will walk a 
little slower than you have yet done.” 

The young lady slackened her pace, and sighed. 

“ He is certainly very handsome,” quoth the nurse : 
“ but thou must not think more of him ; he is too far 
above thee for marriage, and for aught else, thou art 
too honest, and thy brother too proud ” 

“ And thou, Benedetta, art too quick with thy 
tongue. How canst thou talk thus, when thou know- 
est he hath never, since, at least, I was a mere child, 
even addressed me : nay, he scarce knows of my very 
existence. He, the Lord Adrian di Castello, dream of 
the poor Irene ! the mere thought is madness ! ” 

“ Then why,” said the nurse, briskly, “ dost thou 
dream of him? ” 

Her companion sighed again more deeply than at 
first. 

“ Holy St. Catherine ! ” continued Benedetta, “ if 
there were but one man in the world, I would die 
single ere I would think of him, until, at least, he had 
kissed my hand twice, and left it my own fault if it 
were not my lips instead.” 

The young lady still replied not. 

“ But how didst thou contrive to love him ? ” asked 
the nurse. “ Thou canst not have seen him very 
often : it is but some four or five weeks since his return 
to Rome.” 

“ Oh, how dull art thou ? ” answered the fair Irene. 


40 


RIENZI 


“ Have I not told thee, again and again, that I loved 
him six years ago ? ” 

“ When thou hadst told but thy tenth year, and a 
doll would have been thy most suitable lover! As I 
am a Christian, Signora, thou hast made good use of 
thy time.” 

“ And during his absence,” continued the girl, 
fondly, yet sadly, “ did I not hear him spoken of, and 
was not the mere sound of his name like a love-gift 
that bade me remember? And when they praised 
him, have I not rejoiced? and when they blamed him, 
have I not resented? And when they said that his 
lance was victorious in the tourney, did I not weep 
with pride? and when they whispered that his vows 
were welcome in the bower, wept I not as fervently 
with grief? Have not the six years of his absence 
been a dream, and was not his return a waking into 
light — a morning of glory and the sun? And I see 
him now in the church when he wots not of me ; and 
on his happy steed as he passes by my lattice : and is 
not that enough of happiness for love ? ” 

“ But if he loves not thee? ” 

“ Fool ! I ask not that ; nay, I know not if I wish 
it. Perhaps I would rather dream of him, such as I 
would have him, than know him for what he is. He 
might be unkind, or ungenerous, or love me but little ; 
rather would I not be loved at all, than loved coldly, 
and eat away my heart by comparing it with his. I 
can love him now as something abstract, unreal, and 
divine: but what would be my shame, my grief, if I 
were to find him less than I have imagined! Then, 
indeed, my life would have been wasted ; then, indeed, 
the beauty of the earth would be gone ! ” 

The good nurse was not very capable of sympa- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


4i 


thising with sentiments like these. Even had their 
characters been more alike, their disparity of age 
would have rendered such sympathy impossible. 
What but youth can echo back the soul of youth — all 
the music of its wild vanities and romantic follies? 
The good nurse did not sympathise with the sentiments 
of her young lady, but she sympathised with the deep 
earnestness with which they were expressed. She 
thought it wondrous silly, but wondrous moving; she 
wiped her eyes with the corner of her veil, and hoped 
in her secret heart that her young charge would soon 
get a real husband to put such unsubstantial fantasies 
out of her head. There was a short pause in their 
conversation, when, just where two streets crossed one 
another, there was heard a loud noise of laughing 
voices and trampling feet. Torches were seen on high 
affronting the pale light of the moon ; and, at a very 
short distance from the two females, in the cross street, 
advanced a company of seven or eight men, bearing, 
as seen by the red light of the torches, the formidable 
badge of the Orsini. 

Amidst the other disorders of the time, it was no 
unfrequent custom for the younger or more dissolute 
of the nobles, in small and armed companies, to parade 
the streets at night, seeking occasion for a licentious 
gallantry among the cowering citizens, or a skirmish 
at arms with some rival stragglers of their own order. 
Such a band had Irene and her companion now 
chanced to encounter. 

“ Holy Mother! ” cried Benedetta, turning pale, .and 
half running, “what curse has befallen us? How 
could we have been so foolish as to tarry so late at 
the Lady Nina’s! Run, Signora, — run, or we shall 
fall into their hands ! ” 


42 


RIENZI 


But the advice of Benedetta came too late, — the flut- 
tering garments of the women had been already de- 
scried : in a moment more they were sourounded by the 
marauders. A rude hand tore aside Benedetta’s veil, 
and at sight of features, which, if time had not spared, 
it could never very materially injure, the rough aggres- 
sor cast the poor nurse against the wall with a curse, 
which was echoed by a loud laugh from his comrades. 

“ Thou hast a fine fortune in faces, Giuseppe ! ” 

“ Yes; it was but the other day that he seized on a 
girl of sixty.” 

“ And then, by way of improving her beauty, cut 
her across the face with his dagger, because she was 
not sixteen ! ” 

“ Hush, fellows ! whom have we here ? ” said the 
chief of the party, a man richly dressed, and who, 
though bordering upon middle age, had only the more 
accustomed himself to the excesses of youth; as he' 
spoke, he snatched the trembling Irene from the grasp 
of his followers. “ Ho, there ! the torches ! Oh che 
bella faccia! what blushes — what eyes ! — nay, look not 
down, pretty one ; thou needst not be ashamed to win 
the love of an Orsini — yes ; know the triumph thou 
hast achieved — it is Martino di Porto who bids thee 
smile upon him ! ” 

“ For the blest Mother’s sake release me ! Nay, sir, 
this must not be — I am not unfriended — this insult 
shall not pass ! ” 

“ Hark to her silver chiding ; it is better than my 
best hound’s bay ! This adventure is worth a month’s 
watching. What! will you not come? — restive — 
shrieks too! — Francesco Pietro, ye are the gentlest 
of the band. Wrap her veil around her, — muffle this 
music ; — so ! bear her before me to the palace, and to- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


43 


morrow, sweet one, thou shalt go home with a basket 
of florins which thou mayest say thou hast bought at 
market.” 

But Irene’s shrieks, Irene’s struggles, had already 
brought succour to her side, and, as Adrian approached 
the spot, the nurse flung herself on her knees before 
him. 

“ Oh, sweet signor, for Christ’s grace save us ! 
deliver my young mistress — her friends love you well ! 
We are all for the Colonna, my lord ; yes, indeed, all for 
the Colonna ! Save the kin of your own clients, gra- 
cious signor ! ” 

“ It is enough that she is a woman,” answered 
Adrian, adding, between his teeth, “ and that an Orsini 
is her assailant.” He strode haughtily into the thickest 
of the group ; the servitors laid hands on their swords, 
but gave way before him as they recognised his per- 
son ; he reached the two men who had already seized 
Irene ; in one moment he struck the foremost to the 
ground, in another he had passed his left arm round 
the light and slender form of the maiden, and stood 
confronting the Orsini with his drawn blade, which, 
however, he pointed to the ground. 

“ For shame, my lord — for shame ! ” said he, indig- 
nantly. “ Will you force Rome to rise, to a man, 
against our order? Vex not too far the lion, chained 
though he be ; war against us if ye will ! draw your 
blades upon men , though they be of your own race, 
and speak your own tongue : but if ye would sleep at 
nights, and not dread the avenger’s gripe, — if ye would 
walk the market-place secure, — wrong not a Roman 
woman ! Yes, the very walls around us preach to you 
the punishment of such a deed : for that offence fell the 
Tarquins, — for that offence were swept away the 


44 


RIENZI 


Decemvirs, — for that offence, if ye rush upon it, the 
blood of your whole house may flow like water. Cease 
then, my lord, from this mad attempt, so unworthy 
your great name ; cease, and thank even a Colonna that 
he has come between you and a moment’s frenzy ! ” 

So noble, so lofty, were the air and gesture of 
Adrian, as he thus spoke, that even the rude servitors 
felt a thrill of approbation and remorse — not so Marti- 
no di Porto. He had been struck with the beauty of the 
prey thus suddenly snatched from him ; he had been 
accustomed to long outrage and to long impunity ; the 
very sight, the very voice of a Colonna, was a blight to 
his eye, and a discord to his ear : what, then, when a 
Colonna interfered with his lusts and rebuked his vices ? 

“ Pedant ! ” he cried, with quivering lips, “ prate not 
to me of thy vain legends and gossip’s tales ! think not 
to snatch from me my possession in another, when 
thine own life is in my hands. Unhand the maiden ! 
throw down thy sword ! return home without further 
parley, or, by my faith, and the blades of my follow- 
ers — (look at them well) — thou diest ! ” 

“ Signor,” said Adrian, calmly, yet while he spoke 
he retreated gradually with his fair burthen towards 
the neighbouring wall, so as at least to leave only his 
front exposed to those fearful odds : “ Thou wilt not 
so misuse the present chances, and wrong thyself in 
men’s mouths, as to attack with eight swords even thy 
hereditary foe, thus cumbered, too, as he is. But — 
nay hold ! — if thou art so proposed, bethink thee well, 
one cry of my voice would soon turn the odds against 
thee. Thou art now in the quarter of my tribe ; thou 
art surrounded by the habitations of the Colonna : yon 
palace swarms with men who sleep not, save with har- 
ness on their backs ; men whom my voice can reach 



“For shame, my lord, for shame." 











































i 









THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


45 

even now, but from whom, if they once taste of blood, 
it could not save thee ! ” 

“ He speaks true, noble Lord,” said one of the band : 
“ we have wandered too far out of our beat ; we are in 
their very den ; the palace of old Stephen Colonna is 
within call : and, to my knowledge,” added he, in a 
whisper, “ eighteen fresh men-of-arms — ay, and North- 
men too — marched through its gates this day.” 

“ Were there eight hundred men at arm’s length,” 
answered Martino, furiously, “ I would not be thus 
bearded amidst mine own train ! Away with yon 
woman ! To the attack ! to the attack ! ” 

Thus saying, he made a desperate lunge at Adrian, 
who, having kept his eye cautiously on the movements 
of his enemy, was not unprepared for the assault. As 
he put aside the blade with his own, he shouted with 
a loud voice — “ Colonna ! to the rescue, Colonna ! ” 

Nor had it been without an ulterior object that the 
acute and self-controlling mind of Adrian had hitherto 
sought to prolong the parley. Even as he first ad- 
dressed Orsini, he had perceived, by the moonlight, 
the glitter of armour upon two men advancing from 
the far end of the street, and judged at once, bv the 
neighbourhood, that they must be among the mer- 
cenaries of the Colonna. 

Gently he suffered the form of Irene, which now, for 
she had swooned with the terror, pressed too heavily 
upon him, to slide from his left arm, and standing over 
her form while sheltered from behind by the wall 
which he had so warily gained, he contented himself 
with parrying the blows hastily aimed at him, without 
attempting to retaliate. Few of the Romans, how- 
ever accustomed to such desultory warfare, were then 
well and dexterously practised in the use of arms; 


4 6 


RIENZI 


and the science Adrian had acquired in the schools of 
the martial north, befriended him now, even against 
such odds. It is true, indeed, that the followers of 
Orsini did not share the fury of their lord ; partly 
afraid of the consequences to themselves should the 
blood of so high-born a signor be spilt by their hands, 
partly embarrassed with the apprehension that they 
should see themselves suddenly beset with the ruthless 
hirelings so close within hearing, they struck but aim- 
less and random blows, looking every moment behind 
and aside, and rather prepared for flight than slaugh- 
ter. Echoing the cry of “ Colonna,” poor Benedetta 
fled at the first clash of swords. She ran down the 
dreary street still shrieking that cry, and passed the 
very portals of Stephen’s palace (where some grim 
forms yet loitered) without arresting her steps there, 
so great were her confusion and terror. 

Meanwhile, the two armed men, whom Adrian had 
descried, proceeded leisurely up the street. The one 
was of a rude and common mould, his arms and his 
complexion testified his calling and race; and by the 
great respect he paid to his companion, it was evi- 
dent that that companion was no native of Italy. For 
the brigands of the north, while they served the vices 
of the southern, scarce affected to disguise their con- 
tempt for his cowardice. 

The companion of the brigand was a man of a mar- 
tial, yet easy air. He wore no helmet, but a cap of 
crimson velvet, set off with a white plume; on his 
mantle, or surcoat, which was of scarlet, was wrought 
a broad white cross, both at back and breast ; and so 
brilliant was the polish of his corselet, that, as from 
time to time the mantle waved aside and exposed it 
to the moonbeams, it glittered like light itself. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


47 


“ Nay, Rodolf,” said he, “ if thou hast so good a lot 
of it here with that hoary schemer, Heaven forbid that 
I should wish to draw thee back again to our merry 
band. But tell me — this Rienzi — thinkest thou he has 
any solid and formidable power ? ” 

“ Pshaw ! noble chieftain, not a whit of it. He 
pleases the mob ; but as for the nobles, they laugh at 
him ; and, as for the soldiers, he has no money ! ” 

“ He pleases the mob, then ! ” 

“ Ay, that doth he ; and when he speaks aloud to 
them, all the roar of Rome is hushed.” 

“ Humph ! — when nobles are hated, and soldiers are 
bought, a mob may, in any hour, become the master. 
An honest people and a weak mob, — a corrupt people 
and a strong mob,” said the other, rather to himself 
than to his comrade, and scarce, perhaps, conscious of 
the eternal truth of his aphorism. “ He is no mere 
brawler, this Rienzi, I suspect — I must see to it. Hark ! 
what noise is that? By the Holy Sepulchre, it is the 
ring of our own metal ! ” 

“ And that cry — ‘ a Colonna ! * ” exclaimed Rodolf. 
“ Pardon me, master, — I must away to the rescue ! ” 

“ Ay, it is the duty of thy hire ; — run ; yet stay, I 
will accompany thee, gratis for once, and from pure 
passion for mischief. By this hand, there is no music 
like clashing steel ! ” 

Still Adrian continued gallantly and unwounded to 
defend himself, though his arm now grew tired, his 
breath well-nigh spent, and his eyes began to wink 
and reel beneath the glare of the tossing torches. 
Orsini himself, exhausted by his fury, had paused for 
an instant, fronting his foe with a heaving breast and 
savage looks, when, suddenly, his followers exclaimed, 
“ Fly ! fly ! — the bandits approach — we are sur- 


48 


RIENZI 


rounded ! ” and two of the servitors, without further 
parley, took fairly to their heels. The other five 
remained irresolute, and waiting but the command of 
their master, when he of the white plume, whom I 
have just described, thrust himself into the melee. 

“ What ! gentles,” said he, “ have ye finished 
already ? Nay, let us not mar the sport ; begin again, 
I beseech you. What are the odds ? Ho ! six to one ! 
— nay, no wonder that ye have waited for fairer play. 
See, we too will take the weaker side. Now then, let 
us begin again.” 

“ Insolent ! ” cried the Orsini. “ Knowest thou 
him whom thou addressest thus arrogantly? — I am 
Martino di Porto. Who art thou ? ” 

“ Walter de Montreal, gentleman of Provence, and 
Knight of St. John ! ” answered the other, carelessly. 

At that redoubted name — the name of one of the 
boldest warriors, and of the most accomplished free- 
booter of his time — even Martino’s cheek grew pale, 
and his followers uttered a cry of terror. 

“ And this, my comrade,” continued the Knight, 
“ for we may as well complete the introduction, is 
probably better known to you than I am, gentles of 
Rome ; and you doubtless recognise in him Rodolf of 
Saxony, a brave man and a true, where he is properly 
paid for his services. ” 

“ Signor,” said Adrian to his enemy, who, aghast 
and dumb, remained staring vacantly at the two new- 
comers, “ you are now in my power. See our own 
people, too, are approaching.” 

And, indeed, from the palace of Stephen Colonna, 
torches began to blaze, and armed men were seen rap- 
idly advancing to the spot. 

“ Go home in peace, and if, to-morrow, or any day 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


49 


more suitable to thee, thou wilt meet me alone, and 
lance to lance, as is the wont of the knights of the 
empire ; or with band to band, and man for man, as 
is rather the Roman custom; I will not fail thee — 
there is my gage.” 

“ Nobly spoken,” said Montreal ; “ and, if ye choose 
the latter, by your leave, I will be one of the party.” 

Martino answered not ; he took up the glove, thrust 
it in his bosom, and strode hastily away; only, when 
he had got some paces down the street, he turned back, 
and, shaking his clenched hand at Adrian, exclaimed, 
in a voice trembling with impotent rage — “ Faithful 
to death ! ” 

The words made one of the mottoes of the Orsini ; 
and, whatever its earlier signification, had long passed 
into a current proverb, to signify their hatred to the 
Colonna. 

Adrian, now engaged in raising, and attempting to 
revive Irene, who was still insensible, disdainfully left 
it to Montreal to reply. 

“ I doubt not, Signor,” said the latter, coolly, “ that 
thou wilt be faithful to Death : for Death, God wot, 
is the only contract which men, however ingenious, 
are unable to break or evade.” 

“ Pardon me, gentle Knight,” said Adrian, looking 
up from his charge, “ if I do not yet give myself wholly 
to gratitude. I have learned enough of knighthood 
to feel thou wilt acknowledge that my first duty is 
here—” 

“ Oh, a lady, then, was the cause of the quarrel ! I 
need not ask who was in the right, when a man brings 
to the rivalry such odds as yon caitiff.” 

“ Thou mistakest a little, Sir Knight, — it is but a 
lamb I have rescued from the wolf.” 


4 


50 


RIENZI 


“ For thy own table ! Be it so ! ” returned the 
Knight, gaily. 

Adrian smiled gravely, and shook his head in denial. 
In truth, he was somewhat embarrassed by his situa- 
tion. Though habitually gallant, he was not willing 
to expose to misconstruction the disinterestedness of 
his late conduct, and (for it was his policy to conciliate 
popularity) to sully the credit which his bravery would 
give him among the citizens, by conveying Irene 
(whose beauty, too, as yet he had scarcely noted) to 
his own dwelling; and yet, in her present situation, 
there was no alternative. She evinced no sign of life. 
He knew not her home, nor parentage. Benedetta 
had vanished. He could not leave her in the streets ; 
he could not resign her to the care of another; and, 
as she lay now upon his breast, he felt her already 
endeared to him, by that sense of protection which is 
so grateful to the human heart. He briefly, therefore, 
explained to those now gathered round him, his pres- 
ent situation, and the cause of the past conflict; and 
bade the torch-bearers precede him to his home. 

“ You, Sir Knight,” added he, turning to Montreal, 
“ if not already more pleasantly lodged, will, I trust, 
deign to be my guest ? ” 

“ Thanks, Signor,” answered Montreal, maliciously, 
“ but I, also, perhaps, have my own affairs to watch 
over. Adieu ! I shall seek you at the earliest occa- 
sion. Fair night, and gentle dreams ! 

‘ Robers Bertrams qui estoit tors 
Ma'is a ceval estoit mult fors 
Cil avoit o lui grans effors 
Multi ot ’homes per lui mors.’ ” * 

* “ An ill-favoured man, but a stout horseman, was Robert 
Bertram. Great deeds were his, and many a man died by 
his hand.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


5i 


And, muttering this rugged chant from the old “ Ro- 
man de Rou,” the Provencal, followed by Rodolf, pur- 
sued his way. 

The vast extent of Rome, and the thinness of its 
population, left many of the streets utterly deserted. 
The principal nobles were thus enabled to possess 
themselves of a wide range of buildings, which they 
fortified, partly against each other, partly against the 
people ; their numerous relatives and clients lived 
around them, forming, as it were, petty courts and 
cities in themselves. 

Almost opposite to the principal palace of the 
Colonna (occupied by his powerful kinsman, Stephen) 
was the mansion of Adrian. Heavily swung back the 
massive gates at his approach ; he ascended the broad 
staircase, and bore his charge into an apartment which 
his tastes had decorated in a fashion not as yet com- 
mon in that age. Ancient statues and busts were 
arranged around ; the pictured arras of Lombardy dec- 
orated the walls, and covered the massive seats. 

“ What ho ! Lights here, and wine ! ” cried the 
Seneschal. 

“ Leave us alone,” said Adrian, gazing passionately 
on the pale cheek of Irene, as he now, by the clear 
light, beheld all its beauty; and a sweet yet burning 
hope crept into his heart. 


52 


RIENZI 


CHAPTER V 

THE DESCRIPTION OF A CONSPIRATOR, AND THE DAWN 
OF THE CONSPIRACY 

Alone, by a table covered with various papers, sat 
a man in the prime of life. The chamber was low and 
long; many antique and disfigured bas-reliefs and 
torsos were placed around the wall, interspersed, here 
and there, with the short sword and close casque, time- 
worn relics of the prowess of ancient Rome. Right 
above the table at which he sate, the moonlight 
streamed through a high and narrow casement, deep 
sunk in the massy wall. In a niche to the right of 
this window, guarded by a sliding door, which was 
now partially drawn aside — but which, by its solid 
substance, and the sheet of iron with which it was 
plated, testified how valuable, in the eyes of the owner, 
was the treasure it protected — were ranged some thirty 
or forty volumes, then deemed no inconsiderable 
library; and being, for the most part, the laborious 
copies in manuscript by the hand of the owner, from 
immortal originals. 

Leaning his cheek on his hand, his brow somewhat 
knit, his lip slightly compressed, that personage 
indulged in meditations far other than the indolent 
dreams of scholars. As the high and still moonlight 
shone upon his countenance, it gave an additional and 
solemn dignity to features which were naturally of a 
grave and majestic cast. Thick and auburn hair, the 
colour of which, not common to the Romans, was 
ascribed to his descent from the Teuton emperor, clus- 
tered in large curls above a high and expansive fore- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


53 


head ; and even the present thoughtful compression of 
the brow could not mar the aspect of latent power, 
which is derived from that great breadth between the 
eyes, in which the Grecian sculptors of old so admi- 
rably conveyed the expression of authority, and the 
silent energy of command. But his features were not 
cast in the Grecian, still less in the Teuton mould. 
The iron jaw, the aquiline nose, the somewhat sunken 
cheek, strikingly recalled the character of the hard 
Roman race, and might not inaptly have suggested 
to a painter a model for the younger Brutus. 

The marked outline of the face, and the short, firm 
upper lip, were not concealed by the beard and mus- 
tachios usually then worn ; and, in the faded portrait 
of the person now described, still extant at Rome, may 
be traced a certain resemblance to the popular pic- 
tures of Napoleon ; not indeed in the features, which 
are more stern and prominent in the portrait of the 
Roman, but in that peculiar expression of concen- 
trated and tranquil power which so nearly realises the 
ideal of intellectual majesty. Though still young, the 
personal advantages most peculiar to youth, — the 
bloom and glow, the rounded cheek in which care 
has not yet ploughed its lines, the full unsunken eye, 
and the slender delicacy of frame, — these were not the 
characteristics of that solitary student. And, though 
considered by his contemporaries as eminently hand- 
some, the judgment was probably formed less from 
the more vulgar claims to such distinction, than from 
the height of the stature, an advantage at that time 
more esteemed than at present, and that nobler order 
of beauty which cultivated genius and commanding 
character usually stamp upon even homely features ; — 
the more rare in an age so rugged. 


54 


RIENZI 


The character of Rienzi (for the youth presented to 
the reader in the first chapter of this history is now 
again before him in maturer years) had acquired 
greater hardness and energy with each stepping-stone 
to power. There was a circumstance attendant on his 
birth which had, probably, exercised great and early 
influence on his ambition. Though his parents were 
in humble circumstances, and of lowly calling, his 
father was the natural son of the Emperor, Henry 
VII. ; * and it was the pride of the parents that prob- 
ably gave to Rienzi the unwonted advantages of edu- 
cation. This pride transmitted to himself, — his de- 
scent from royalty dinned into his ear, infused into 
his thoughts, from his cradle, — made him, even in his 
earliest youth, deem himself the equal of the Roman 
signors, and half unconsciously aspire to be their 
superior. But, as the literature of Rome was 
unfolded to his eager eye and ambitious heart, he 
became imbued with that pride of country which is 
nobler than the pride of birth; and, save when stung 
by allusions to his origin, he unaffectedly valued him- 
self more on being a Roman plebeian than the 
descendant of a Teuton king. His brother's death, 
and the vicissitudes he himself had already undergone, 
deepened the earnest and solemn qualities of his char- 
acter ; and, at length, all the faculties of a very uncom- 
mon intellect were concentrated into one object — 

* De Sade supposes that the mother of Rienzi was the 
daughter of an illegitimate son of Henry VII., supporting his 
opinion from a MS. in the Vatican. But, according to the 
contemporaneous biographer, Rienzi, in addressing Charles, 
king of Bohemia, claims the relationship from his father. 
“ Di vostro legnaggio sono — figlio di bastardo d’Enrico im- 
peratore,” & c. A more recent writer, il Padre Gabrini, cites 
an inscription in support of this descent: “ Nicolaus Tribu- 
nus . . . Laurentii Teutoniei Filius,” &c. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


55 


which borrowed from a mind strongly and mystically 
religious, as well as patriotic, a sacred aspect, and 
grew at once a duty and a passion. 

“ Yes,” said Rienzi, breaking suddenly from his 
reverie, “ yes, the day is at hand when Rome shall rise 
again from her ashes ; Justice shall dethrone Oppres- 
sion ; men shall walk safe in their ancient Forum. We 
will rouse from his forgotten tomb the indomitable 
soul of Cato ! There shall be a people once more in 
Rome ! And I — I shall be the instrument of that 
triumph — the restorer of my race ! mine shall be the 
first voice to swell the battle-cry of freedom — mine 
the first hand to rear her banner — yes, from the height 
of my own soul as from a mountain, I see already 
rising the liberties and the grandeur of the New Rome ; 
and on the corner-stone of the mighty fabric posterity 
shall read my name.” 

Uttering these lofty boasts, the whole person of 
the speaker seemed instinct with his ambition. He 
strode the gloomy chamber with light and rapid steps, 
as if on air; his breast heaved, his eyes glowed. He 
felt that love itself can scarcely bestow a rapture equal 
to that which is felt, in his first virgin enthusiasm, by 
a patriot who knows himself sincere! 

There was a slight knock at the door, and a servi- 
tor, in the rich liveries worn by the Pope’s officials,* 
presented himself. 

“ Signor,” said he, “ my Lord, the Bishop of Orvi- 
etto, is without.” 

“ Ha ! that is fortunate. Lights there ! — My Lord, 
this is an honour which I can estimate better than 
express.” 

* Not the present hideous habiliments which are said to 
have been the invention of Michael Angelo. 


56 


RIENZI 


“ Tut, tut ! my good friend/’ said the Bishop, enter- 
ing, and seating himself familiarly, “ no ceremonies 
between the servants of the Church ; and never, I ween 
well, had she greater need of true friends than now. 
These unholy tumults, these licentious contentions, in 
the very shrines and city of St. Peter, are sufficient to 
scandalise all Christendom.” 

“ And so will it be,” said Rienzi, “ until his Holiness 
himself shall be graciously persuaded to fix his resi- 
dence in the seat of his predecessors, and curb with 
a strong arm the excesses of the nobles.” 

“ Alas, man ! ” said the Bishop, “ thou knowest that 
these words are but as wind; for were the Pope to 
fulfil thy wishes, and remove from Avignon to Rome, 
by the blood of St. Peter! he would not curb the 
nobles, but the nobles would curb him. Thou know- 
est well that until his blessed predecessor, of pious 
memory, conceived the wise design of escaping to 
Avignon, the Father of the Christian world was but 
like many other fathers in their old age, controlled and 
guarded by his rebellious children. Recollectest thou 
not how the noble Boniface himself, a man of great 
heart, and nerves of iron, was kept in thraldom by the 
ancestors of the Orsini — his entrances and exits made 
but at their will — so that, like a caged eagle, he beat 
himself against his bars and died? Verily, thou talkest 
of the memories of Rome — these are not the memories 
that are very attractive to popes.” 

“ Well,” said Rienzi, laughing gently, and drawing 
his seat nearer to the Bishop’s', “ my Lord has cer- 
tainly the best of the argument at present ; and I must 
own, that strong, licentious, and unhallowed as the 
order of nobility was then, it is yet more so now.” 

“ Even I,” rejoined Raimond, colouring as he spoke, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


57 


“ though Vicar of the Pope, and representative of his 
spiritual authority, was, but three days ago, subjected 
to a coarse affront from that very Stephen Colonna, 
who has ever received such favour and tenderness 
from the Holy See. His servitors jostled mine in the 
open streets, and I myself— I, the delegate of the sire 
of kings — was forced to draw aside to the wall, and 
wait until the hoary insolent swept by. Nor were blas- 
pheming words wanting to complete the insult. ‘ Par- 
don, Lord Bishop,’ said he, as he passed me ; ‘ but this 
world, thou knowest, must necessarily take precedence 
of the other.’ ” 

“ Dared he so high?” said Rienzi, shading his face 
with his hand, as a very peculiar smile — scarcely itself 
joyous, though it made others gay, and which com- 
pletely changed the character of his face, naturally 
grave even to sternness — played round his lips. 
“ Then it is time for thee, holy father, as for us, 


“To what?” interrupted the Bishop, quickly. 
“ Can we effect aught ! Dismiss thy enthusiastic 
dreamings — descend to the real earth — look soberly 
round us. Against men so powerful, what can we 
do?” 

“ My Lord,” answered Rienzi, gravely, “ it is the 
misfortune of signors of your rank never to know the 
people, or the accurate signs of the time. As those 
who pass over the heights of mountains see the clouds 
sweep below, veiling the plains and valleys from their 
gaze, while they, only a little above the level, survey 
the movements and the homes of men ; even so from 
your lofty eminence ye behold but the indistinct and 
sullen vapours — while from my humbler station I see 
the preparations of the shepherds, to shelter them- 


58 


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selves and herds from the storm which those clouds 
betoken. Despair not, my Lord ; endurance goes but 
to a certain limit — to that limit it is already stretched ; 
Rome waits but the occasion (it will soon come, but 
not suddenly) to rise simultaneously against her 
oppressors.” 

The great secret of eloquence is to be in earnest — 
the great secret of Rienzi’s eloquence was in the 
mightiness of his enthusiasm. He never spoke as one 
who doubted of success. Perhaps, like most men who 
undertake high and great actions, he himself was 
never thoroughly aware of the obstacles in his way. 
He saw the end, bright and clear, and overleaped, in 
the vision of his soul, the crosses and the length of 
the path; thus the deep convictions of his own mind 
stamped themselves irresistibly upon others. He 
seemed less to promise than to prophesy. 

The Bishop of Orvietto, not over-wise, yet a man 
of cool temperament and much worldly experience, 
was forcibly impressed by the energy of his com- 
panion ; perhaps, indeed, the more so, inasmuch as his 
own pride and his own passions were also enlisted 
against the arrogance and licence of the nobles. He 
paused ere he replied to Rienzi. 

“ But is it,” he asked, at length, “ only the plebeians 
who will rise? Thou knowest how they are caitiff and 
uncertain.” 

“ My Lord,” answered Rienzi, “ judge, by one fact, 
how strongly I am surrounded by friends of no com- 
mon class : thou knowest how loudly I speak against 
the nobles — I cite them by their name — I beard the 
Savelli, the Orsini, the Colonna, in their very hearing. 
Thinkest thou that they forgive me? thinkest thou 
that, were only the plebeians my safeguard and my 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


59 


favourers, they would not seize me by open force, — 
that I had not long ere this found a gag in their 
dungeons, or been swallowed up in the eternal dumb- 
ness of the grave ? Observe,” continued he, as, read- 
ing the Vicar’s countenance, he perceived the impres- 
sion he had made — “ observe, that, throughout the 
whole world, a great revolution has begun. The bar- 
baric darkness of centuries has been broken ; the 
knowledge which made men as demigods in the past 
time has been called from her urn; a Power, subtler 
than brute force, and mightier than armed men, is at 
work ; we have begun once more to do homage to the 
Royalty of Mind. Yes, that same Power which, a 
few years ago, crowned Petrarch in the Capitol, when 
it witnessed, after the silence of twelve centuries, the 
glories of a triumph, — which heaped upon a man of 
obscure birth, and unknown in arms, the same 
honours given of old to emperors and the vanquishers 
of kings, — which united in one act of homage even the 
rival houses of Colonna and Orsini, — which made the 
haughtiest patricians emulous to bear the train, to 
touch but the purple robe of the son of the Florentine 
plebeian, — which still draws the eyes of Europe to the 
lowly cottage of Vaucluse, — which gives to the hum- 
ble student the all-acknowledged licence to admonish 
tyrants, and approach, with haughty prayers, even the 
Father of the Church ; — yes, that same Power, which, 
working silently throughout Italy, murmurs under the 
solid base of the Venetian oligarchy; * which, beyond 
the Alps, has wakened into visible and sudden life in 
Spain, in Germany, in Flanders; and which, even in 

* It was about eight years afterwards that the long-smoth- 
ered hate of the Venetian people to that wisest and most 
vigilant of all oligarchies, the Sparta of Italy, broke out in 
the conspiracy under Marino Faliero. 


6o 


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that barbarous Isle, conquered by the Norman sword, 
ruled by the bravest of living kings,* has roused a 
spirit Norman cannot break — kings to rule over must 
rule by — yes, that same Power is everywhere abroad : 
it speaks, it conquers in the voice even of him who 
is before you ; it unites in his cause all on whom but 
one glimmering of light has burst, all in whom one 
generous desire can be kindled ! Know, Lord Vicar, 
that there is not a man in Rome, save our oppressors 
themselves — not a man who has learned one syllable 
of our ancient tongue — whose heart and sword are not 
with me. The peaceful cultivators of letters — the 
proud nobles of the second order — the rising race, 
wiser than their slothful sires ; above all, my Lord, 
the humbler ministers of religion, priests and monks, 
whom luxury hath not blinded, pomp hath not deaf- 
ened, to the monstrous outrage to Christianity daily 
and nightly perpetrated in the Christian Capital ; these, 
— all these, — are linked with the merchant and the 
artisan in one indissoluble bond, waiting but the signal 
to fall or to conquer, to live freemen, or to die martyrs, 
with Rienzi and their country ! ” 

“ Sayest thou so in truth ? ” said the Bishop, startled, 
and half rising. “ Prove but thy words, and thou 
shalt not find the ministers of God are less eager than 
their lay brethren for the happiness of men.” 

“ What I say,” rejoined Rienzi, in a cooler tone, 
“ that can I show ! but I may only prove it to those 
who will be with us.” 

* Edward III., in whose reign opinions far more popular 
than those of the following century began to work. The Civil 
Wars threw back the action into the blood. It was indeed an 
age throughout, the world which put forth abundant blos- 
soms, but crude and unripened fruit; — a singular leap, fol- 
lowed by as singular a pause. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


61 


“ Fear me not,” answered Raimond : “ I know well 
the secret mind of his Holiness, whose delegate and 
representative I am; and could he see but the legiti- 
mate and natural limit set to the power of the patri- 
cians, who, in their arrogance, have set at nought the 
authority of the Church itself, be sure that he would 
smile on the hand that drew the line. Nay, so certain 
of this am I, that if ye succeed, I, his responsible but 
unworthy vicar, will myself sanction the success. But 
beware of crude attempts ; the Church must not be 
weakened by linking itself to failure.” 

“ Right, my Lord,” answered Rienzi ; “ and in this, 
the policy of religion is that of freedom. Judge of my 
prudence by my long delay. He who can see all 
around him impatient — himself not less so — and yet 
suppress the signal, and bide the hour, is not likely to 
lose his cause by rashness.” 

“ More, then, of this anon,” said the Bishop, reset- 
tling himself in his seat. “ As thy plans mature, fear 
not to communicate with me. Believe that Rome has 
no firmer friend than he who, ordained to preserve 
order, finds himself impotent against aggression. 
Meanwhile, to the object of my present visit, which 
links itself, in some measure, perhaps, with the topics 
on which we have conversed . . . . Thou knowest 
that when his Holiness intrusted thee with thy present 
office, he bade thee also announce his beneficent inten- 
tion of granting a general Jubilee at Rome for the year 
1350 — a most admirable design for two reasons, suf- 
ficiently apparent to thyself : first, that every Christian 
soul that may undertake the pilgrimage to Rome on 
that occasion, may thus obtain a general remission of 
sins ; and secondly, because, to speak carnally, the con- 
course of pilgrims so assembled, usually, by the dona,- 


62 


RIENZI 


tions and offerings their piety suggests, very materially 
add to the revenues of the Holy See : at this time, 
by the way, in no very flourishing condition. This 
thou knowest, dear Rienzi.” 

Rienzi bowed his head in assent, and the prelate 
continued — 

“ Well, it is with the greatest grief that his Holiness 
perceives that his pious intentions are likely to be frus- 
trated : for so fierce and numerous are now the brig- 
ands in the public approaches to Rome, that, verily, 
the boldest pilgrim may tremble a little to undertake 
the journey; and those who do so venture will, prob- 
ably, be composed of the poorest of the Christian com- 
munity, — men who, bringing with them neither gold, 
nor silver, nor precious offerings, will have little to 
fear from the rapacity of the brigands. Hence arise 
two consequences : on the one hand, the rich — whom, 
Heaven knows, and the Gospel has, indeed, expressly 
declared, have the most need of a remission of sins — 
will be deprived of this glorious occasion for absolu- 
tion ; and, on the other hand, the coffers of the Church 
will be impiously defrauded of that wealth which it 
would otherwise doubtless obtain from the zeal of her 
children.” 

“ Nothing can be more logically manifest, my 
Lord,” said Rienzi. 

The Vicar continued — “ Now, in letters received 
five days since from his Holiness, he bade me expose 
these fearful consequences to Christianity to the vari- 
ous patricians who are legitimately fiefs of the Church, 
and command their resolute combination against the. 
marauders of the road. With these have I conferred, 
and vainly.” 

“ For by the aid, and from the troops, of those very 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 63 


brigands, these patricians have fortified their palaces 
against each other,” added Rienzi. 

“ Exactly for that reason,” rejoined the Bishop. 
“ Nay, Stephen Colonna himself had the audacity to 
confess it. Utterly unmoved by the loss to so many 
precious souls, and, I may add, to the papal treasury, 
which ought to be little less dear to right-discerning 
men, they refuse to advance a step against the bandits. 
Now, then, hearken the second mandate of his Holi- 
ness : — * Failing the nobles/ saith he, in his prophetic 
sagacity, ‘ confer with Cola di Rienzi. He is a bold 
man, and a pious, and, thou tellest me, of great weight 
with the people; and say to him, that if his wit can 
devise the method for extirpating these sons of Belial, 
and rendering a safe passage along the public ways, 
largely, indeed, will he merit at our hands, — lasting 
will be the gratitude we shall owe to him ; and what- 
ever succour thou, and the servants of our See, can 
render to him, let it not be stinted/ ” 

“ Said his Holiness thus ! ” exclaimed Rienzi. “ I 
ask no more — the gratitude is mine that he hath 
thought thus of his servant, and intrusted me with this 
charge ; at once I accept it — at once I pledge myself 
to success. Let us, my Lord, let us, then, clearly 
understand the limits ordained to my discretion. To 
curb the brigands without the walls, I must have au- 
thority over those within. If I undertake, at peril of 
my life, to clear all the avenues to Rome of the rob- 
bers who now infest it, shall I have full licence for 
conduct bold, peremptory, and severe ? ” 

“ Such conduct the very nature of the charge de- 
mands,” replied Raimond. 

“ Ay — even though it be exercised against the 
arch offenders — against the supporters of the brig- 


6 4 


RIENZI 


ands — against the haughtiest of the nobles them- 
selves? ” 

The Bishop paused, and looked hard in the face of 
the speaker. “ I repeat,” said he, at length, sinking 
his voice, and with a significant tone, “ in these bold 
attempts, success is the sole sanction. Succeed, and 
we will excuse thee all — even to the ” 

“ Death of a Colonna or an Orsini, should justice 
demand it; and provided it be according to the law, 
and only incurred by the violation of the law ! ” added 
Rienzi, firmly. 

The Bishop did not reply in words, but a slight 
motion of his head was sufficient answer to Rienzi. 

“ My Lord,” said he, “ from this time, then, all is 
well ; I date the revolution — the restoration of order, 
of the state — from this hour, this very conference. Till 
now, knowing that justice must never wink upon great 
offenders, I had hesitated, through fear lest thou and 
his Holiness might deem it severity, and blame him 
who replaces the law, because he smites the violators 
of law. Now I judge ye more rightly. Your hand, 
my Lord.” 

The Bishop extended his hand ; Rienzi grasped it 
firmly, and then raised it respectfully to his lips. Both 
felt that the compact was sealed. 

This conference, so long in recital, was short in the 
reality; but its object was already finished, and the 
Bishop rose to depart. The outer portal of the house 
was opened, the numerous servitors of the Bishop held 
on high their torches, and he had just turned from 
Rienzi, who had attended him to the gate, when a 
female passed hastily through the Prelate’s train, and 
starting as she beheld Rienzi, flung herself at his 
feet. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 65 

“ Oh, hasten, Sir ! hasten, for the love of God, 
hasten ! or the young Signora is lost for ever ! ” 

“ The Signora ! — Heaven and earth, Benedetta, of 
whom do you speak? — of my sister — of Irene? is she 
not within ? ” 

“ Oh, Sir — the Orsini — the Orsini ! ” 

“ What of them ? — speak, woman ! ” 

Here, breathlessly, and with many a break, Bene- 
detta recounted to Rienzi, in whom the reader has 
already recognised the brother of Irene, so far of the 
adventure with Martino di Porto as she had witnessed : 
of the termination and result of the contest she knew 
nought. 

Rienzi listened in silence ; but the deadly paleness of 
his countenance, and the writhing of the nether lip, 
testified the emotions to which he gave no audible 
vent. 

“ You hear, my Lord Bishop — you hear,” said he, 
when Benedetta had concluded; and turning to the 
Bishop, whose departure the narrative had delayed — 
“ you hear to what outrage the citizens of Rome are 
subjected. My hat and sword! instantly! My Lord, 
forgive my abruptness.” 

“ Whither art thou bent, then ? ” asked Raimond. 

“ Whither — whither ! — Ay, I forgot, my Lord, you 
have no sister. Perhaps, too, you had no brother? — 
No, no ; one victim at least I will live to save. 
Whither, you ask me? — to the palace of Martino di 
Porto.” 

“ To an Orsini alone, and for justice ? ” 

“Alone, and for justice! — No!” shouted Rienzi, in 
a loud voice, as he seized his sword, now brought to 
him by one of his servants, and rushed from the house ; 
“ but one man is sufficient for revenge! ” 

5 


66 


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The Bishop paused for a moment’s deliberation. 
“ He must not be lost,” muttered he, “ as he well may 
be, if exposed thus solitary to the wolfs rage. What, 
ho ! ” he cried aloud ; “ advance the torches ! — quick, 
quick ! We ourself — we, the Vicar of the Pope — will 
see to this. Calm yourselves, good people ; your 
young Signora shall be restored. On! to the palace 
of Martino di Porto ! ” 


CHAPTER VI 

IRENE IN THE PALACE OF ADRIAN DI CASTELLO 

As the Cyprian gazed on the image in which he had 
embodied a youth of dreams, what time the living hues 
flushed slowly beneath the marble, — so gazed the 
young and passionate Adrian upon the form reclined 
before him, re-awakening gradually to life. And, if 
the beauty of that face were not of the loftiest or the 
most dazzling order, if its soft and quiet character 
might be outshone by many, of loveliness less really 
perfect, yet never was there a countenance that, to 
some eyes, would have seemed more charming, and 
never one in which more eloquently was wrought that 
ineffable and virgin expression which Italian art seeks 
for in its models, — in which modesty is the outward, 
and tenderness the latent, expression ; the bloom of 
youth, both of form and heart, ere the first frail and 
delicate freshness of either is brushed away : and when 
even love itself, the only unquiet visitant that should 
be known at such an age, is but a sentiment, and not 
a passion ! 

“ Benedetta ! ” murmured Irene, at length opening 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 67 

her eyes, unconsciously, upon him who knelt beside 
her, — eyes of that uncertain, that most liquid hue, on 
which you might gaze for years and never learn the 
secret of the colour, so changed it with the dilating 
pupil, — darkening in the shade, and brightening into 
azure in the light : 

“ Benedetta,” said Irene, “ where art thou ? Oh, 
Benedetta ! I have had such a dream.” 

“ And /, too, such a vision ! ” thought Adrian. 

“ Where am I ? ” cried Irene, rising from the couch. 
“ This room — these hangings — Holy Virgin ! do I 
dream still ! — and you ! Heavens ! — it is the Lord 
Adrian di Castello ! ” 

“Is that a name thou hast been taught to fear?” 
said Adrian ; “ if so, I will forswear it.” 

If Irene now blushed deeply, it was not in that wild 
delight with which her romantic heart might have fore- 
told that she would listen to the first words of homage 
from Adrian di Castello. Bewildered and confused, — 
terrified at the strangeness of the place, and shrink- 
ing even from the thought of finding herself alone with 
one who for years had been present to her fancies, — 
alarm and distress were the emotions she felt the most, 
and which most were impressed upon her speaking 
countenance; and as Adrian now drew nearer to her, 
despite the gentleness of his voice and the respect of 
his looks, her fears, not the less strong that they were 
vague, increased upon her : she retreated to the further 
end of the room, looked wildly round her, and then, 
covering her face with her hands, burst into a paroxysm 
of tears. 

Moved himself by these tears, and divining her 
thoughts, Adrian forgot for a moment all the more 
daring wishes he had formed. 


68 


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“ Fear not, sweet lady,” said he earnestly : “ recol- 
lect thyself, I beseech thee ; no peril, no evil can reach 
thee here ; it was this hand that saved thee from the 
outrage of the Orsini — this roof is but the shelter of a 
friend ! Tell me, then, fair wonder, thy name and res- 
idence, and I will summon my servitors, and guard 
thee to thy home at once.” 

Perhaps the relief of tears, even more than Adrian’s 
words, restored Irene to herself, and enabled her to 
comprehend her novel situation ; and as her senses, 
thus cleared, told her what she owed to him whom her 
dreams had so long imaged as the ideal of all excel- 
lence, she recovered her self-possession, and uttered 
her thanks with a grace not the less winning, if it still 
partook of embarrassment. 

“ Thank me not,” answered Adrian, passionately. 
“ I have touched thy hand — I am repaid. Repaid ! 
nay, all gratitude — all homage is for me to render ! ” 

Blushing again, but with far different emotions than 
before, Irene, after a momentary pause, replied, “ Yet, 
my Lord, I must consider it a debt the more weighty 
that you speak of it so lightly. And now, complete the 
obligation. I do not see my companion — suffer her 
to accompany me home ; it is but a short way hence.” 

“ Blessed, then, is the air that I have breathed so 
unconsciously ! ” said Adrian. “ But thy companion, 
dear lady, is not here. She fled, I imagine, in the con- 
fusion of the conflict ; and not knowing thy name, nor 
being able, in thy then state, to learn it from thy lips, 
it was my happy necessity to convey thee hither; — 
but I will be thy companion. Nay, why that timid 
glance? my people, also, shall attend us.” 

“ My thanks, noble Lord, are of little worth; my 
brother, who is not unknown to thee, will thank thee 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 69 

more fittingly. May I depart ? ” and Irene, as she 
spoke, was already at the door. 

“ Art thou so eager to leave me ? ” answered Adrian, 
sadly. “ Alas ! when thou hast departed from my 
eyes, it will seem as if the moon had left the night ! — 
but it is happiness to obey thy wishes, even though 
they tear thee from me.” 

A slight smile parted Irene’s lips, and Adrian’s heart 
beat audibly to himself, as he drew from that smile, 
and those downcast eyes, no unfavourable omen. 

Reluctantly and slowly he turned towards the door, 
and summoned his attendants. “ But,” said he, as 
they stood on the lofty staircase, “ thou sayest, sweet 
lady, that thy brother’s name is not unknown to me. 
Heaven grant that he be, indeed, a friend of the 
Colonna ! ” 

“ His boast,” answered Irene, evasively ; “ the boast 
of Cola di Rienzi is, to be a friend to the friends of 
Rome.” 

“ Holy Virgin of Ara Coeli ! — is thy brother that 
extraordinary man ? ” exclaimed Adrian, as he fore- 
saw, at the mention of that name, a barrier to his sud- 
den passion. “ Alas ! in a Colonna, in a noble, he will 
see no merit ; even though thy fortunate deliverer, 
sweet maiden, sought to be his early friend ! ” 

“ Thou wrongest him much, my Lord,” returned 
Irene, warmly ; “ he is a man above all others to sym- 
pathise with thy generous valour, even had it been 
exerted in defence of the humblest woman in Rome, — 
how much more, then, when in protection of his 
sister ! ” 

“ The times are, indeed, diseased,” answered Adrian, 
thoughtfully, as they now found themselves in the 
open street, “ when men who alike mourn for the woes 


70 


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of their country are yet suspicious of each other : when 
to be a patrician is to be regarded as an enemy to the 
people; when to be termed the friend of the people 
is to be considered a foe to the patricians : but come 
what may, oh ! let me hope, dear lady, that no doubts, 
no divisions, shall banish from thy breast one gentle 
memory of me ! ” 

“ Ah ! little, little do you know me ! ” began Irene, 
and stopped suddenly short. 

“ Speak ! speak again ! — of what music has this en- 
vious silence deprived my soul ! Thou wilt not, then, 
forget me ? And,” continued Adrian, “ we shall meet 
again ? It is to Rienzi’s house we are bound now ; to- 
morrow I shall visit my old companion, — to-morrow I 
shall see thee. Will it not be so? ” 

In Irene's silence was her answer. 

“ And as thou hast told me thy brother's name, 
make it sweet to my ear, and add to it thine own.” 

“ They call me Irene.” 

“ Irene, Irene ! — let me repeat it. It is a soft name, 
and dwells upon the lips as if loath to leave them — 
a fitting name for one like thee.” 

Thus making his welcome court to Irene, in that 
flowered and glowing language which, if more pecul- 
iar to that age and to the gallantry of the south, is 
also the language in which the poetry of youthful pas- 
sion would, in all times and lands, utter its rich extrav- 
agance, could heart speak to heart, Adrian conveyed 
homeward his beautiful charge, taking, however, the 
most circuitous and lengthened route ; an artifice 
which Irene either perceived not, or silently forgave. 
They were now within sight of the street in which 
Rienzi dwelt, when a party of men, bearing torches, 
came unexpectedly upon them. It was the train of 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 




the Bishop of Orvietto, returning from the palace of 
Martino di Porto, and in their way (accompanied by 
Rienzi) to that of Adrian. They had learned at the 
former, without an interview with the Orsini, from 
the retainers in the court below, the fortune of the 
conflict, and the name of Irene’s champion ; and, 
despite Adrian’s general reputation for gallantry, 
Rienzi knew enough of his character, and the noble- 
ness of his temper, to feel assured that Irene was safe 
in his protection. Alas ! in that very safety to the per- 
son is often the most danger to the heart. Woman 
never so dangerously loves, as when he who loves her, 
for her sake, subdues himself. 

Clasped to her brother’s breast, Irene bade him 
thank her deliverer; and Rienzi, with that fascinating 
frankness which sits so well on those usually reserved, 
and which all who would rule the hearts of their fel- 
low-men must at times command, advanced to the 
young Colonna, and poured forth his gratitude and 
praise. 

“We have been severed too long, — we must know 
each other again,” replied Adrian. “ I shall seek thee, 
ere long, be assured.” 

Turning to take his leave of Irene, he conveyed her 
hand to his lips, and pressing it, as it dropped from 
his clasp, was he deceived in thinking that those deli- 
cate fingers lightly, involuntarily, returned the pres- 
sure? 


72 


RIENZI 


CHAPTER VII 

UPON LOVE AND LOVERS 

If, in adopting the legendary love-tale of Romeo 
and Juliet, Shakespeare had changed the scene in 
which it is cast for a more northern clime, we may 
doubt whether the art of Shakespeare himself could 
have reconciled us at once to the suddenness and the 
strength of Juliet’s passion. And even as it is, per- 
haps there are few of our rational and sober-minded 
islanders who would not honestly confess, it fairly 
questioned, that they deem the romance and fervour 
of those ill-starred lovers of Verona exaggerated and 
over-drawn. Yet in Italy, the picture of that affec- 
tion born of a night — but “ strong as death ” — is one 
to which the veriest commonplaces of life would 
afford parallels without number. As in different ages, 
so in different climes, love varies wonderfully in the 
shapes it takes. And even at this day, beneath Italian 
skies, many a simple girl would feel as Juliet, and 
many a homely gallant would rival the extravagance 
of Romeo. Long suits in that sunny land, wherein, 
as whereof, I now write, are unknown. In no other 
land, perhaps, is there found so commonly the love at 
first sight, which in France is a jest, and in England 
a doubt ; in no other land, too, is love, though so 
suddenly conceived, more faithfully preserved. That 
which is ripened in fancy comes at once to passion, 
yet is embalmed through all time by sentiment. And 
this must be my and their excuse, if the love of Adrian 
seem too prematurely formed, and that of Irene too 
romantically conceived; — it is the excuse which they 


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73 


take from the air and sun, from the customs of their 
ancestors, from the soft contagion of example. But 
while they yielded to the dictates of their hearts, it 
was with a certain though secret sadness — a presenti- 
ment that had, perhaps, its charm, though it was of 
cross and evil. Born of so proud a race, Adrian could 
scarcely dream of marriage with the sister of a ple- 
beian ; and Irene, unconscious of the future glory of 
her brother, could hardly have cherished any hope, 
save that of being loved. Yet these adverse circum- 
stances, which, in the harder, the more prudent, the 
more self-denying, perhaps the more virtuous minds, 
that are formed beneath the northern skies, would 
have been an inducement to wrestle against love so 
placed, only contributed to feed and to strengthen 
theirs by an opposition which has ever its attraction 
for romance. They found frequent, though short, 
opportunities of meeting — not quite alone, but only in 
the conniving presence of Benedetta : sometimes in 
the public gardens, sometimes amidst the vast and 
deserted ruins by which the house of Rienzi was sur- 
rounded. They surrendered themselves, without much 
question of the future, to the excitement — the elysium 
— of the hour : they lived but from day to day ; their 
future was the next time they should meet ; beyond 
that epoch, the very mists of their youthful love closed 
in obscurity and shadow which they sought not to pen- 
etrate : and as yet they had not arrived at that period 
of affection when there was danger of their fall, — their 
love had not passed the golden portal where Heaven 
ceases and Earth begins. Everything for them was 
the poetry, the vagueness, the refinement, — not the 
power, the concentration, the mortality, — of desire. 
The look — the whisper — the brief pressure of the 


74 


RIENZI 


hand, — at most, the first kisses of love, rare and few, — 
these marked the human limits of that sentiment which 
filled them with a new life, which elevated them as 
with a new soul. 

The roving tendencies of Adrian were at once fixed 
and centered ; the dreams of his tender mistress had 
awakened to a life dreaming still, but “ rounded with a 
truth .” All that earnestness, and energy, and fervour 
of emotion, which, in her brother, broke forth in the 
schemes of patriotism and the aspirations of power, 
were, in Irene, softened down into one object of exist- 
ence, one concentration of soul, — and that was love. 
Yet, in this range of thought and action, so apparently 
limited, there was, in reality, no less boundless a 
sphere than in the wide space of her brother’s many- 
pathed ambition. Not the less had she the power and 
scope for all the loftiest capacities granted to our clay. 
Equal was her enthusiasm for her idol ; equal, had she 
been equally tried, would have been her generosity, 
her devotion : — greater, be sure, her courage ; more 
inalienable her worship ; more unsullied by selfish pur- 
poses and sordid views. Time, change, misfortune, 
ingratitude, would have left her the same ! What 
state could fall, what liberty decay, if the zeal of man’s 
noisy patriotism were as pure as the silent loyalty of a 
woman’s love? 

In them everything was young ! — the heart un- 
chilled, unblighted, — that fulness and luxuriance of 
life’s life which has in it something of divine. At that 
age, when it seems as if we could never die^ how death- 
less, how flushed and mighty as with the youngness 
of a god, is all that our hearts create ! Our own 
youth is like that of the earth itself, when it peopled 
the woods and waters with divinities; when life ran 


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75 


riot, and yet only gave birth to beauty ; — all its 
shapes, of poetry, — all its airs, the melodies of 
Arcady and Olympus ! The Golden Age never leaves 
the world : it exists still, and shall exist, till love, 
health, poetry, are no more; but only for the 
young ! 

If I now dwell, though but for a moment, on this, 
interlude in a drama calling forth more masculine pas- 
sions than that of love, it is because I foresee that the 
occasion will but rarely recur. If I linger on the 
description of Irene and her hidden affection, rather 
than wait for circumstances to portray them better 
than the author’s words can, it is because I foresee 
^hat that loving and lovely image must continue to the 
last rather a shadow than a portrait, — thrown in the 
background, as is the real destiny of such natures, by 
bolder figures and more gorgeous colours; a some- 
thing whose presence is rather felt than seen, and 
whose very harmony with the whole consists in its 
retiring and subdued repose. 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE ENTHUSIASTIC MAN JUDGED BY THE 
DISCREET MAN 

“ Thou wrongest me,” said Rienzi, warmly, to 
Adrian, as they sat alone, towards the close, of a long 
conference ; “ I do not play the part of a mere dema- 
gogue ; I wish not to stir the great deeps in order that 
my lees of fortune may rise to the surface. So long 
have I brooded over the past, that it seems to me as 
if I had become a part of it — as if I had no separate 


RIENZI 


76 

existence. I have coined my whole soul into one 
master passion, — and its end is the restoration of 
Rome.” 

“ But by what means? ” 

“ My Lord ! my Lord ! there is but one way to 
restore the greatness of a people — it is an appeal to the 
people themselves. It is not in the power of princes 
and barons to make a state permanently glorious ; they 
raise themselves, but they raise not the people with 
them. All great regenerations are the universal move- 
ment of the mass.” 

“ Nay,” answered Adrian, “ then have we read his- 
tory differently. To me, all great regenerations seem 
to have been the work of the few, and tacitly accepted 
by the multitude. But let us not dispute after the 
manner of the schools. Thou sayest loudly that a vast 
crisis is at hand ; that the Good Estate ( buono stato ) shall 
be established. How? where are your arms? — your 
soldiers ? Are the nobles less strong than heretofore ? 
is the mob more bold, more constant? Heaven knows 
that I speak not with the prejudices of my order — I 
weep for, the debasement of my country ! I am a 
Roman, and in that name I forget that I am a noble. 
But I tremble at the storm you would raise so hazard- 
ously. If your insurrection succeed, it will be violent : 
it will be purchased by blood — by the blood of all the 
loftiest names of Rome. You will aim at a second 
expulsion of the Tarquins; but it will be more like a 
second proscription of Sylla. Massacres and dis- 
orders never pave the way to peace. If, on the other 
hand, you fail, the chains of Rome are riveted for 
ever : an ineffectual struggle to escape is but an excuse 
for additional tortures to the slave.” 

“ And what, then, would the Lord Adrian have us 


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77 


do?” said Rienzi, with that peculiar and sarcastic 
smile which has before been noted. “ Shall we wait 
till the Colonna and Orsini quarrel no more ? shall 
we ask the Colonna for liberty, and the Orsini for jus- 
tice ? My Lord, we cannot appeal to the nobles 
against the nobles. We must not ask them to mod- 
erate their power; we must restore to ourselves that 
power. There may be danger in the attempt — but we 
attempt it amongst the monuments of the Forum : and 
if we fall — we shall perish worthy of our sires ! Ye have 
high descent, and sounding titles, and wide lands, and 
you talk of your ancestral honours! We, too, — we 
plebeians of Rome, — we have ours! Our fathers were 
freemen ! where is our heritage ? not sold — not given 
away : but stolen from us, now by fraud, now by force 
— filched from us in our sleep ; or wrung^from us with 
fierce hands, amidst our cries and struggles. *My 
Lord, we but ask that lawful heritage to be restored 
to us : to us — nay, to you it is the same ; your liberty, 
alike, is gone. Can you dwell in your father’s house, 
without towers, and fortresses, and the bought swords 
of bravos? can you walk in the streets at dark*without 
arms and followers? True, you, a noble, may retali- 
ate ; though we dare not. You, in your turn, may ter- 
rify and outrage others ; but does licence compensate 
for liberty ? They have given you pomp and power — 
but the safety of equal laws were a better gift. Oh, 
were I you — were I Stephen Colonna himself, I should 
pant, ay, thirstily as I do now, for that free air which 
comes not through bars and bulwarks against my fel- 
low-citizens, but in the open space of Heaven — safe, 
because protected by the silent Providence of Law, 
and not by the lean fears and hollow-eyed suspicions 
which are the comrades of a hated power. The tyrant 


78 


RIENZI 


thinks he is free, because he commands slaves: the 
meanest peasant in a free state is more free than he is. 
Oh, my Lord, that you — the brave, the generous, the 
enlightened — you, almost alone amidst your order, in 
the knowledge that we had a country — oh, would that 
you -who can sympathise with our sufferings, would 
strike with us for their redress ! ” 

“ Thou wilt war against Stephen Colonna, my kins- 
man ; and though I have seen him but little, nor, truth 
to say, esteem him much, yet he is the boast of our 
house, — how can I join thee?” 

“ His life will be safe, his possessions safe, his rank 
safe. What do we war against? His power to do 
wrong to others ? ” 

“ Should he discover that thou hast force beyond 
words, he would be less merciful to thee” 

“And has he not discovered that? Do not the 
shouts of the people tell him that I am a man whom 
he should fear? Does he — the cautious, the wily, the 
profound — does he build fortresses, and erect towers, 
and not see from his battlements the mighty fabric that 
I, too, b&ve erected ? ” 

“ You ! where, Rienzi ? ” 

“ In the hearts of Rome ! Does he not see ? ” con- 
tinued Rienzi. “No, no; he — all, all his tribe are 
blind. Is it not so?” 

“ Of a certainty, my kinsman has no belief in your 
power, else he would have crushed you long ere this. 
Nay, it was but three days ago that he said, gravely, 
he would rather you addressed the populace than the 
best priest in Christendom ; for that other orators in- 
flamed the crowd, and no man so stilled and dispersed 
them as you did.” 

“ And I called him profound ! Does not Heaven 


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79 


hush the air most when most it prepares the storm? 
Ay, my Lord, I understand. Stephen Colonna 
despises me. I have been ” — (here, as he continued, 
a deep blush mantled over his cheek) — “ you remem- 
ber it — at his palace in my younger days, and pleased 
him with witty tales and light apophthegms. Nay — 
ha ! ha ! — he would call me, I think, sometimes, in gay 
compliment, his jester — his buffoon ! . I have brooked 
his insult ; I have even bowed to his applause. I would 
undergo the same penance, stoop to the same shame, 
for the same motive, and in the same cause. What did 
I desire to effect? Can you tell me? No! I will 
whisper it, then, to you : it was — the contempt of 
Stephen Colonna. Under that contempt I was pro- 
tected, till protection became no longer necessary. I 
desired not to be thought formidable by the patricians, 
in order that, quietly and unsuspected, I might make 
my way amongst the people. I have done so ; I now 
throw aside the mask. Face to face with Stephen 
Colonna, I could tell him, this very hour, that I brave 
his anger; that I laugh at his dungeons and armed 
men. But if he think me the same Rienzi as of old, 
let him ; I can .wait my hour.” 

“ Yet,” said Adrian, waiving an answer to the 
haughty language of his companion, “ tell me, what 
dost thou ask for the people, in order to avoid an 
appeal to their passions?* — ignorant and capricious as 
they are, thou canst not appeal to their reason.” 

“ I ask full justice and safety for all men. I will be 
contented with no less a compromise. I ask the 
nobles to dismantle their fortresses; to disband their 
armed retainers ; to acknowledge no impunity for 
crime in high lineage ; to claim no protection save in 
the courts of the common law.” 


8o 


RIENZI 


“ Vain desire ! ” said Adrian. “ Ask what may yet 
be granted.” 

“ Ha — ha ! ha ! ” replied Rienzi, laughing bitterly, 
“ did I not tell you it was a vain dream to ask for law 
and justice at the hands of the great? Can you blame 
me, then, that I ask it elsewhere ? ” Then, suddenly 
changing his tone and manner, he added with great 
solemnity — “ Waking life hath false and vain dreams ; 
but sleep is sometimes a mighty prophet. By sleep 
it is that Heaven mysteriously communes with its 
creatures, and guides and sustains its earthly agents in 
the path to which its providence leads them on.” 

Adrian made no reply. This was not the first time 
he had noted that Rienzi’s strong intellect was 
strangely conjoined with a deep and mystical supersti- 
tion. And this yet more inclined the young noble, 
who, though sufficiently devout, yielded but little to 
the wilder credulities of the time, to doubt the success 
of the schemer’s projects. In this he erred greatly, 
though his error was that of the worldly wise. For 
nothing ever so inspires human daring, as the fond 
belief that it is the agent of a Diviner Wisdom. 
Revenge and patriotism, united in one man of genius 
and ambition — such are the Archimedian levers that 
find, in fanaticism, the spot out of the world by which 
to move the world. The prudent man may direct a 
state; but it is the enthusiast who regenerates it, — or 
ruins. 


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81 


CHAPTER IX 

“ WHEN THE PEOPLE SAW THIS PICTURE EVERY ONE 
MARVELLED ” 

Before the market-place, and at the foot of the Cap- 
itol, an immense crowd was assembled. Each man 
sought to push before his neighbour ; each struggled 
to gain access to one particular spot, round which the 
crowd was wedged thick and dense. 

“ Corpo di Dio ! ” said a man of huge stature, press- 
ing onward, like some bulky ship, casting the noisy 
waves right and left from its prow, “ this is hot work ; 
but for what, in the Holy Mother’s name, do ye crowd 
so? See you not, Sir Ribald, that my right arm is 
disabled, swathed, and bandaged, so that I cannot help 
myself better than a baby? and yet, you push against 
me as if I were an old wall ! ” 

“Ah, Cecco del Vecchio! — what, man! we must 
make way for you — you are too small and tender to 
bustle through a crowd ! Come, I will protect you ! ” 
said a dwarf of some four feet high, glancing up at the 
giant. 

“ Faith,” said the grim smith, looking round on the 
mob, who laughed loud at the dwarf’s proffer, “ we all 
do want protection, big and small. What do you laugh 
for, ye apes ? — ay, you don’t understand parables.” 

“ And yet it is a parable we are come to gaze upon,” 
said one of the mob, with a slight sneer. 

“ Pleasant day to you, Signor Baroncelli,” answered 
Cecco del Vecchio ; “ you are a good man, and love 
the people; it makes one’s heart smile to see you. 
What’s all this pother for?” 

6 


82 


RIENZI 


“ Why the Pope’s Notary hath set up a great pic- 
ture in the market-place, and the gapers say it relates 
to Rome; so they are melting their brains out, this 
hot day, to guess at the riddle.” 

“ Ho S ho !” said the smith, pushing on so vigorously 
that he left the speaker suddenly in the rear ; “ if Cola 
di Rienzi hath aught in the matter, I would break 
through stone rocks to get to it.” 

“ Much good will a dead daub do us,” said Baron- 
celli, sourly, and turning to his neighbours ; but no 
man listened to him, and he, a would-be demagogue, 
gnawed his lip in envy. 

Amidst half-awed groans and curses from the men 
whom he jostled aside, and open objurgations and 
shrill cries from the women, to whose robes and head- 
gear he showed as little respect, the sturdy smith won ' 
his way to a space fenced round by chains, in the 
centre of which was placed a huge picture. 

“ How came it hither ? ” cried one ; “ I was first at 
the market.” 

“ We found it here at daybreak,” said a vendor of 
fruit : “ no one was by.” 

“ But why do you fancy Rienzi had a hand in it ? ” 

“ Why, who else could ? ” answered twenty voices. 

“ True ! Who else? ” echoed the gaunt smith. “ I 
dare be sworn the good man spent the whole night in 
painting it himself. Blood of St. Peter! but it is 
mighty fine ! What is it about? ” 

“ That’s the riddle,” said a meditative fish-woman ; 

“ if I could make it out I should die happy.” 

“ It is something about liberty and taxes, no doubt,” 
said Luigi, the butcher, leaning over the chains. “ Ah, 
if Rienzi were minded, every poor man would have his 
bit of meat in his pot.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 83 

“ And as much bread as he could eat/’ added a pale 
baker. 

“ Chut ! bread and meat — everybody has that now ! 
— but what wine the poor folks drink ! One has no 
encouragement to take pains with one’s vineyard,” 
said a vine-dresser. 

“ Ho, hollo ! — long life to Pandulfo di Guido ! make 
way for master Pandulfo ; he is a learned man ; he is a 
friend of the great Notary’s : he will tell us all about 
the picture ; make way, there — make way ! ” 

Slowly and modestly, Pandulfo di Guido, a quiet, 
wealthy, and honest man of letters, whom nought save 
the violence of the times could have roused from his 
tranquil home, or his studious closet, passed to the 
chains. He looked long and hard at the picture, 
which was bright with new, and yet moist colours, and 
exhibited somewhat of the reviving art, which, though 
hard and harsh in its features, was about that time 
visible, and, carried to a far higher degree, we yet 
gaze upon in the paintings of Perugino, who flour- 
ished during the succeeding generation. The people 
pressed round the learned man, with open mouths ; 
now turning their eyes to the picture, now to Pan- 
dulfo. 

“ Know you not,” at length said Pandulfo, “ the easy 
and palpable meaning of this design? Behold how 
the painter has presented to you a vast and stormy sea 
— mark how its waves — ” 

“ Speak louder — louder ! ” shouted the impatient 
crowd. 

“ Hush ! ” cried those in the immediate vicinity 
of Pandulfo, “ the worthy Signor is perfectly au- 
dible ! ” 

Meanwhile, some of the more witty, pushing 


8 4 


RIENZI 


towards a stall in the market-place, bore from it a 
rough table, from which they besought Pandulfo to 
address the people. The pale citizen, with some pain 
and shame, for he was no practised spokesman, was 
obliged to assent ; but when he cast his eyes over the 
vast and breathless crowd, his own deep sympathy 
with their cause inspired and emboldened him. A 
light broke from his eyes; his voice swelled into 
power; and his head, usually buried in his breast, be- 
came erect and commanding in its air. 

“ You see before you in the picture ” (he began 
again) “ a mighty and tempestuous sea : upon its waves 
you behold five ships ; four of them are already wrecks, 
— their masts are broken, the waves are dashing 
through the rent planks, they are past all aid and 
hope : on each of these ships lies the corpse of a 
woman. See you not, in the wan face and livid limbs, 
how faithfully the limner hath painted the hues and 
loathsomeness of death? Below each of these ships 
is a word that applies the metaphor to truth. Yonder, 
you see the name of Carthage ; the other three are 
Troy, Jerusalem, and Babylon. To these four is one 
common inscription. ‘ To exhaustion were we brought 
by injustice!’ Turn now your eyes to the middle of 
the sea, — there you behold the fifth ship, tossed amidst 
the waves, her mast broken, her rudder gone, her sails 
shivered, but not yet a wreck like the rest, though she 
soon may be. On her deck kneels a female, clothed 
in mourning; mark the woe upon her countenance, — 
how cunningly the artist has conveyed its depth and 
desolation ; she stretches out her arms in prayer, she 
implores your and Heaven’s assistance. Mark now 
the superscription — ‘This is Rome!’ — Yes, it is your 
country that addresses you in this emblem ! ” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 85 

The crowd waved to and fro, and a deep murmur 
crept gathering over the silence which they had hith- 
erto kept. 

“ Now,” continued Pandulfo, “ turn your gaze to the 
right of the picture, and you will behold the cause of 
the tempest, — you will see why the fifth vessel is thus 
perilled, and her sisters are thus wrecked. Mark, four 
different kinds of animals, who, from their horrid jaws, 
send forth the winds and storms which torture and 
rack the sea. The first are the lions, the wolves, the 
bears. These, the inscription tells you, are the lawless 
and savage signors of the state. The next are the 
dogs and swine, — these are the evil counsellors and 
parasites. Thirdly, you behold the dragons and the 
foxes, — and these are false judges and notaries, and 
they who sell justice. Fourthly, in the hares, the goats, 
the apes, that assist in creating the storm, you per- 
ceive, by the inscription, the emblems of the popular 
thieves and homicides, ravishers and spoliators. Are 
ye bewildered still, O Romans! or have ye mastered 
the riddle of the picture ? ” 

Far in their massive palaces the Savelli and Orsini 
heard the echo of the shouts that answered the ques- 
tion of Pandulfo. 

“ Are ye, then, without hope ! ” resumed the scholar, 
as the shout ceased, and hushing, with the first sound 
of his voice, the ejaculations and speeches which each 
man had turned to utter to his neighbour. “ Are ye 
without hope? Doth the picture, which shows your 
tribulation, promise you no redemption? Behold, 
above that angry sea, the heavens open, and the 
majesty of God descends gloriously, as to judgment; 
and, from the rays that surround the spirit of God 
extend two flaming swords, and on those swords stand, 


86 


RIENZI 


in wrath, but in deliverance, the two patron saints — 
the two mighty guardians of your city! People of 
Rome, farewell ! the parable is finished.” * 


CHAPTER X 

A ROUGH SPIRIT RAISED, WHICH MAY HEREAFTER 
REND THE WIZARD 

While thus animated was the scene around the Cap- 
itol, within one of the apartments of the palace sat the 
agent and prime cause of that excitement. In the 
company of his quiet scribes, Rienzi appeared ab- 
sorbed in the patient details of his avocation. While 
the murmur and the hum, the shout and the tramp, of 
multitudes, rolled to his chamber, he seemed not to 
heed them, nor to rouse himself a moment from his 
task. With the unbroken regularity of an automaton, 
he continued to enter in his large book, and with the 
clear and beautiful characters of the period, those 
damning figures which taught him, better than decla- 
mations, the frauds practised on the people, and armed 
him with that weapon of plain fact which it is so dif- 
ficult for abuse to parry. 

“ Page 2, Vol. B.,” said he, in the tranquil voice of 
business, to the clerks ; “ see there, the profits of the 
salt duty ; department No. 3 — very well. Page 9, Vol. 

* M. Sismondi attributes to Rienzi a fine oration at the 
showing of the picture, in which he thundered against the 
vices of the patricians. The contemporary biographer of 
Rienzi says nothing of this harangue. But, apparently (since 
history has its liberties as well as fiction), M. Sismondi has 
thought it convenient to confound two occasions very distinct 
in themselves. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 87 


D. — what is the account rendered by Vescobaldi, the 
collector ? What ! twelve thousand florins ? — no more ? 
— unconscionable rascal ! ” (Here was a loud shout 
without of “Pandulfo ! — long live Pandulfo ! ”) “ Pas- 
trucci, my friend, your head wanders ; you are listening 
to the noise without — please to amuse yourself with 
the calculation I entrusted to you. Santi, what is the 
entry given in by Antonio Traili? ” 

A slight tap was heard at the door, and Pandulfo 
entered. 

The clerks continued their labour, though they 
looked up hastily at the pale and respectable visitor, 
whose name, to their great astonishment, had thus 
become a popular cry. 

“ Ah, my friend/’ said Rienzi, calmly enough in 
voice, but his. hands trembled with ill-suppressed emo- 
tion, “ you would speak to me alone, eh ? well, well, — 
this way.” Thus saying, he led the citizen into a 
small cabinet in the rear of the room of office, care- 
fully shut the door, and then giving himself up to the 
natural impatience of his character, seized Pandulfo 
by the hand : “ Speak ! ” cried he : “ do they take the 
interpretation? — have you made it plain and palpable 
enough ? — has it sunk deep into their souls ? ” 

“ Oh, by St. Peter ! yes ! ” returned the citizen, 
whose spirits were elevated by his recent discovery 
that he, too, was an orator — a luxurious pleasure for 
a timid man. “They swallowed every word of the 
interpretation ; they are moved to the marrow — you 
might lead them this very hour to battle, and find them 
heroes. As for the sturdy smith — ” 

“What! Cecco del Vecchio?” interrupted Rienzi; 
“ ah, his heart is wrought in bronze — what did he ? ” 

“ Why, he caught me by the hem of my robe as I 


88 


RIENZI 


descended my rostrum (oh ! would you could have 
seen me ! — per fede I had caught your mantle ! — I was 
a second you!) and said, weeping like a child, ‘Ah, 
Signor, I am but a poor man, and of little worth ; but 
if every drop of blood in this body were a life, I would 
give it for my country ! ’ ” 

“ Brave soul,” said Rienzi, with emotion ; “ would 
Rome had but fifty such ! No man hath done us more 
good among his own class than Cecco del Vecchio.” 

“ They feel a protection in his very size,” said Pan- 
dulfo. “ It is something to hear such big words from 
such a big fellow.” 

“ Were there any voices lifted in disapprobation of 
the picture and its sentiment ? ” 

“ None.” 

“ The time is nearly ripe, then — a few suns more, 
and the fruit must be gathered. The Aventine, — the 
Lateran, — and then the solitary trumpet! ” Thus say- 
ing, Rienzi, with folded arms and downcast eyes, 
seemed sunk into a reyerie. 

“ By the way,” said Pandulfo, “ I had almost for- 
got to tell thee, that the crowd would have poured 
themselves hither, so impatient were they to see thee ; 
but I bade Cecco del Vecchio mount the rostrum, and 
tell them, in his blunt way, that it would be unseemly 
at the present time, when thou wert engaged in the 
Capitol on civil and holy affairs, to rush in so great 
a body into thy presence. Did I not right? ” 

“ Most right, my Pandulfo.” 

“ But Cecco del Vecchio says he must come and 
kiss thy hand: and thou mayest expect him here the 
moment he can escape unobserved from the crowd.” 

“He is welcome!” said Rienzi, half mechanically, 
for he was still absorbed in thought. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 89 

“ And lo ! here he is,” — as one of the scribes an- 
nounced the visit of the smith. 

“ Let him be admitted ! ” said Rienzi, seating him- 
self composedly. 

When the huge smith found himself in the presence 
of Rienzi, it amused Pandulfo to perceive the wonder- 
ful influences of mind over matter. That fierce and 
sturdy giant, who, in all popular commotions, towered 
above his tribe, with thews of stone, and nerves of 
iron, the rallying point and bulwark of the rest, — 
stood now colouring and trembling before the intel- 
lect, which (so had the eloquent spirit of Rienzi waked 
and fanned the spark which, till then, had lain dor- 
mant in that rough bosom) might almost be said to 
have created his own. And he, indeed, who first 
arouses in the bondsman the sense and soul of free- 
dom, comes as near as is permitted to man, nearer 
than the philosopher, nearer even than the poet, to 
the great creative attribute of God ! — But, if the breast 
be uneducated, the gift may curse the giver; and he 
who passes at once from the slave to the freeman may 
pass as rapidly from the freeman to the ruffian. 

“ Approach, my friend,” said Rienzi, after a 
moment's pause ; “ I know all that thou hast done, and 
wouldst do, for Rome ! Thou are worthy of her best 
days, and thou art born to share in their return.” 

The smith dropped at the feet of Rienzi, who held 
out his hand to raise him, which Cecco del Vecchio 
seized, and reverently kissed. 

“ This kiss doth not betray,” said Rienzi, smiling ; 
“ but rise, my friend, — this posture is only due to God 
and his saints ! ” 

“ He is a saint who helps us at need ! ” said the 
smith, bluntly, “ and that no man has done as thou 


9 ° 


RIENZI 


hast. But when/’ he added, sinking his voice, and 
fixing his eyes hard on Rienzi, as one may do who 
waits a signal to strike a blow, “ when — when shall we 
make the great effort ? ” 

“ Thou hast spoken to all the brave men in thy 
neighbourhood, — are they well prepared ? ” 

“ To live or die, as Rienzi bids them ! ” 

“ I must have the list — the number — names — 
houses and callings, this night.” 

“ Thou shalt.” 

“ Each man must sign his name or mark with his 
own hand.” 

“ It shall be done.” 

“ Then, harkye ! attend Pandulfo di Guido at his 
house this evening, at sunset. He shall instruct thee 
where to meet this night some brave hearts ; — thou 
art worthy to be ranked amongst them. Thou wilt 
not fail ! ” 

“ By the Holy Stairs ! I will count every minute till 
then,” said the smith, his swarthy face lighted with 
pride at the confidence shown him. 

“ Meanwhile, watch all your neighbours; let no man 
flag or grow faint-hearted, — none of thy friends must 
be branded as a traitor ! ” 

“ I will cut his throat, were he my own mother’s son, 
if I find one pledged man flinch ! ” said the fierce smith. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” rejoined Rienzi, with that strange laugh 
which belonged to him ; “ a miracle ! a miracle ! The 
Picture speaks now ! ” 

It was already nearly dusk when Rienzi left the 
Capitol. The broad space before its walls was empty 
and deserted, and wrapping his mantle closely round 
him, he walked musingly on. 


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9i 


“ I have almost climbed the height,” thought he, 
“ and now the precipice yawns before me. If I fail, 
what a fall ! The last hope of my country falls with 
me. Never will a noble rise against the nobles. 
Never will another plebeian have the opportunities 
and the power that I have ! Rome is bound up with me 
— with a single life. The liberties of all time are fixed 
to a reed that a wind may uproot. But oh, Provi- 
dence ! hast thou not reserved and marked me for 
great deeds ? How, step by step, have I been led on to 
this solemn enterprise ! How has each hour prepared 
its successor! And yet what danger! if the incon- 
stant people, made cowardly by long thraldom, do but 
waver in the crisis, I am swept away ! ” 

As he spoke, he raised his eyes, and lo, before him, 
the first star of twilight shone calmly down upon the 
crumbling remnants of the Tarpeian Rock. It was 
no favouring omen, and Rienzi’s heart beat quicker 
as that dark and ruined mass frowned thus suddenly 
on his gaze. 

“ Dread monument,” thought he, a of what dark 
catastrophes, to what unknown schemes, hast thou 
been the witness ! To how many enterprises, on 
which history is dumb, hast thou set the seal ! How 
know we whether they were criminal or just? How 
know we whether he, thus doomed as a traitor, would 
not, if successful, have been immortalised as a deliv- 
erer? If I fall, who will write my chronicle? One of 
the people ? alas ! blinded and ignorant, they furnish 
forth no minds that can appeal to posterity. One of 
the patricians ? in what colours then shall I be painted ! 
No tomb will rise for me amidst the wrecks ; no hand 
scatter flowers upon my grave ! ” 

Thus meditating on the verge of that mighty enter- 


9 2 


RIENZI 


prise to which he had devoted himself, Rienzi pursued 
his way. He gained the Tiber, and paused for a few 
moments beside its legendary stream, over which the 
purple and star-lit heaven shone deeply down. He 
crossed the bridge which leads to the quarter of the 
Trastevere, whose haughty inhabitants yet boast them- 
selves the sole true descendants of the ancient Romans. 
Here his step grew quicker and more light; brighter, 
if less solemn, thoughts crowded upon his breast ; and 
ambition, lulled for a moment, left his strained and 
over-laboured mind to the reign of a softer passion. 


CHAPTER XI 

NINA DI RASELLI 

“ I tell you, Lucia, I do not love those stuffs ; they 
do not become me. Saw you ever so poor a dye ? — 
this purple, indeed ! that crimson ! Why did you let 
the man leave them? Let him take them elsewhere 
to-morrow. They may suit the signoras on the other 
side the Tiber, who imagine everything Venetian must 
be perfect ; but I, Lucia, I see with my own eyes, and 
judge from my own mind.” 

“ Ah, dear lady,” said the serving-maid, “ if you 
were, as you doubtless will be, some time or other, 
a grand signora, how worthily you would wear the 
honours ! Santa Cecilia ! no other dame in Rome 
would be looked at while the Lady Nina were by! ” 

“Would we not teach them what pomp was?” 
answered Nina. “ Oh ! what festivals would we hold ! 
Saw you not from the gallery the revels given last 
week by the Lady Giulia Savelli ? ” 


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93 


“ Ay, Signora ; and when you walked up the hall in 
your silver and pearl tissue, there ran such a murmur 
through the gallery ; every one cried, ‘ The Savelli 
have entertained an angel ! ’ ” 

“ Pish ! Lucia ; no flattery, girl.” 

“ It is naked truth, lady. But that was a revel, was 
it not ? There was grandeur ! — fifty servitors in scar- 
let and gold ! and the music playing all the while. 
The minstrels were sent for from Bergamo. Did not 
that festival please you? Ah, I warrant many were 
the fine speeches made to you that day ! ” 

“ Heigho ! — no, there was one voice wanting, and 
all the music was marred. But, girl, were I the Lady 
Giulia, I would not have been contented with so poor 
a revel.” 

“ How, poor ! Why all the nobles say it outdid the 
proudest marriage feast of the Colonna. Nay, a 
Neapolitan who sat next me, and who had served 
under the young Queen Joanna, at her marriage, says, 
that even Naples was outshone.” 

“ That may be. I know nought of Naples ; but I 
know what my court should have been, were I what — 
what I am not, and may never be ! The banquet ves- 
sels should have been of gold; the cups jewelled to the 
brim ; not an inch of the rude pavement should have 
been visible; all should have glowed with cloth of 
gold. The fountain in the court should have show- 
ered up the perfumes of the East; my pages should 
not have been rough youths, blushing at their own un- 
couthness, but fair boys, who had not told their twelfth 
year, culled from the daintiest palaces of Rome; and, 
as for the music, oh Lucia ! — each musician should have 
worn a chaplet, and deserved it; and he who played 
best should have had a reward, to inspire all the rest — 


94 


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a rose from me. Saw you, too, the Lady Giulia’s 
robe ? What colours ! they might have put out the 
sun at noonday ! — yellow, and blue, and orange, and 
scarlet ! Oh, sweet Saints ! — but my eyes ached all 
the next day ! ” 

“ Doubtless, the Lady Giulia lacks your skill in the 
mixture of colours,” said the complaisant waiting- 
woman. 

“ And then, too, what a mien ! — no royalty in it ! 
She moved along the hall, so that her train well-nigh 
tripped her every moment; and then she said, with a 
foolish laugh, ‘ These holyday robes are but trouble- 
some luxuries/ Troth, for the great there should be 
no holyday robes; ’tis for myself, not for others, that 
I would attire ! Every day should have its new robe, 
more gorgeous than the last; — every day should be a 
holyday ! ” 

“ Methought,” said Lucia, “ that the Lord Giovanni 
Orsini seemed very devoted to my Lady.” 

“ He! the bear!” 

“ Bear, he may be ! but he has a costly skin. His 
riches are untold.” 

“ And the fool knows not how to spend them.” 

“ Was not that the young Lord Adrian who spoke 
to you just by the columns, where the music played? ” 

“ It might be, — I forget.” 

“ Yet, I hear that few ladies forget when Lord 
Adrian di Castello woos them.” 

“ There was but one man whose company seemed 
to me worth the recollection,” answered Nina, unheed- 
ing the insinuation of the artful handmaid. 

“ And who was he ? ” asked Lucia. 

“ The old scholar from Avignon ! ” 

“ What ! he with the gray beard ? Oh, Signora ! ” 


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95 


“Yes,” said Nina, with a grave and sad voice; 
“ when he spoke, the whole scene vanished from my 
eyes, — for he spoke to me of Him ! ” 

As she said this the Signora sighed deeply, and the 
tears gathered to her eyes. 

The waiting-woman raised her lips in disdain, and 
her looks in wonder; but she did not dare to venture 
a reply. 

“ Open the lattice,” said Nina, after a pause, “ and 
give me yon paper. Not that, girl — but the verses 
sent me yesterday. What! art thou Italian, and dost 
thou not know, by instinct, that I spoke of the rhyme 
of Petrarch ? ” . 

Seated by the open casement, through which the 
moonlight stole soft and sheen, with one lamp beside 
her, from which she seemed to shade her eyes, though 
in reality she sought to hide her countenance from 
Lucia, the young Signora appeared absorbed in one of 
those tender sonnets which then turned the brains and 
inflamed the hearts of Italy.* 

Born of an impoverished house, which, though 
boasting its descent from a consular race of Rome, 
scarcely at that day maintained a rank amongst the 
inferior order of nobility, Nina di Raselli was the 
spoiled child — the idol and the tyrant — of her parents. 
The energetic and self-willed character of her mind 
made her rule where she should have obeyed; and 
as in all ages dispositions can conquer custom, she 
had, though in a clime and land where the young and 

* Although it is true that the love sonnets of Petrarch were 
not then, as now, the most esteemed of his works, yet it has 
been a great, though a common error, to represent them as 
little known and coldly admired. Their effect was, in reality, 
prodigious and universal. Every ballad-singer sung them in 
the streets (says Filippo Villani), “ Gravissimi nesciebant ab- 
stinere ” — “ Even the gravest could not abstain from them.” 


RIENZI 


96 

unmarried of her sex are usually chained and fettered, 
assumed, and by assuming won, the prerogative of in- 
dependence. She possessed, it is true, more learning 
and more genius than generally fell to the share of 
women in that day ; and enough of both to be deemed 
a miracle by her parents ; — she had, also, what they 
valued more, a surpassing beauty; and, what they 
feared more, an indomitable haughtiness; — a haughti- 
ness mixed with a thousand soft and endearing quali- 
ties where she loved ; and which, indeed, where she 
loved, seemed to vanish. At once vain yet high- 
minded, resolute yet impassioned, there was a gor- 
geous magnificence in her very vanity and splendour, 
— an ideality in her waywardness : her defects made a 
part of her brilliancy ; without them she would have 
seemed less woman ; and, knowing her, you would 
have compared all women by her standard. , Softer 
qualities beside her seemed not more charming, but 
more insipid. She had no vulgar ambition, for she 
had obstinately refused many alliances which the 
daughter of Raselli could scarcely have hoped to form. 
The untutored minds and savage power of the Roman 
nobles seemed to her imagination, which was full of 
the poetry of rank, its luxury and its graces, as some- 
thing barbarous and revolting, at once to be dreaded 
and despised. She had, therefore, passed her twen- 
tieth year unmarried, but not without love. The 
faults, themselves, of her character, elevated that ideal 
of love which she had formed. She required some 
being round whom all her vainer qualities could rally ; 
she felt that where she loved she must adore ; she 
demanded no common idol before which to humble 
so strong and imperious a mind. “Unlike women of 
a gentler mould, who desire, for a short period, to 


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97 


exercise the caprices of sweet empire, — when she loved 
she must cease to command; and pride, at once, be 
humbled to devotion. So rare were the qualities that 
could attract her; so imperiously did her haughtiness 
require that those qualities should be above her own, 
yet of the same order; that her love elevated its object 
like a god. Accustomed to despise, she felt all the 
luxury it is to venerate ! And if it were her lot to be 
united with one thus loved, her nature was that which 
might become elevated by the nature that it gazed on. 
For her beauty — Reader, shouldst thou ever go to 
Rome, thou wilt see in the Capitol the picture of the 
Cumsean Sibyl, which, often copied, no copy can even 
faintly represent. I beseech thee, mistake not this 
sibyl for another, for the Roman galleries abound in 
sibyls.* The sibyl I speak of is dark, and the face has 
an Eastern cast ; the robe and turban, gorgeous 
though they be, grow dim before the rich, but trans- 
parent roses of the cheek ; the hair would be black, 
save for that golden glow which mellows it to a hue 
and lustre never seen but in the south, and even in 
the south most rare ; the features, not Grecian, are yet 
faultless ; the mouth, the brow, the ripe and exquisite 
contour, all are human and voluptuous ; the expression, 
the aspect, is something more; the form is, perhaps, 
too full for the perfection of loveliness, for the propor- 
tions of sculpture, for the delicacy of Athenian mod- 
els ; but the luxuriant fault has a majesty. Gaze long 
upon that picture : it charms, yet commands, the eye. 
While you gaze, you call back five centuries. You 
see before you the breathing image of Nina di Raselli ! 

* The sibyl referred to is the well-known one by Domeni- 
chino. As a mere work of art, that by Guercino, called the 
Persian sibyl, in the same collection, is perhaps superior: but 
in beauty, in character there is no comparison. 

7 


9 8 


RIENZI 


But it was not those ingenious and elaborate con- 
ceits in which Petrarch, great Poet though he be, has 
so often mistaken pedantry for passion, that absorbed 
at that moment the attention of the beautiful Nina. 
Her eyes rested not on the page, but on the garden 
that stretched below the casement. Over the old fruit- 
trees and hanging vines fell the moonshine ; and in 
the centre of the green, but half-neglected sward, the 
waters of a small and circular fountain, whose per- 
fect proportions spoke of days long past, played and 
sparkled in the starlight. The scene was still and 
beautiful ; but neither of its stillness nor its beauty 
thought Nina: towards one, the gloomiest and most 
rugged, spot in the whole garden, turned her gaze ; 
there, the trees stood densely massed together, and 
shut from view the low but heavy wall which encircled 
the mansion of Raselli. The boughs on those trees 
stirred gently, but Nina saw them wave ; and now from 
the copse emerged, slowly and cautiously, a solitary 
figure, whose shadow threw itself, long and dark, over 
the sward. It approached the window, and a low 
voice breathed Nina’s name. 

“ Quick, Lucia ! ” cried she, breathlessly, turning to 
her handmaid : “ quick ! the rope-ladder ! it is he ! he 
is come ! How slow you are ! haste, girl, — he may be 
discovered! There, — O joy, — O joy! — My lover! my 
hero ! my Rienzi ! ” 

“ It is you ! ” said Rienzi, as, now entering the 
chamber, he wound his arms around her half-averted 
form, “ and what is night to others is day to me ! ” 

The first sweet moments of welcome were over ; and 
Rienzi was seated at the feet of his mistress : his head 
rested on her knees — his face looking up to hers — 
their hands clasped each in each. 


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99 


“ And for me thou bravest these dangers ! ” said the 
lover ; “ the shame of discovery, the wrath of thy 
parents ! ” 

“ But what are my perils to thine ? Oh, Heaven ! 
if my father found thee here thou wouldst die ! ” 

“ He would think it then so great a humiliation, that 
thou, beautiful Nina, who mightst match with the 
haughtiest names of Rome, shouldst waste thy love on 
a plebeian — even though the grandson of an em- 
peror! ” 

The proud heart of Nina could sympathise well with 
the wounded pride of her lover : she detected the sore- 
ness which lurked beneath his answer, carelessly as it 
was uttered. 

“ Hast thou not told me,” she said, “ of that great 
Marius, who was no noble, but from whom the loftiest 
Colonna would rejoice to claim his descent? and do I 
not know in thee one who shall yet eclipse the power 
of Marius, unsullied by his vices? ” 

“ Delicious flattery ! sweet prophet ! ” said Rienzi, 
with a melancholy smile ; “ never were thy supporting 
promises of the future more welcome to me than now ; 
for to thee I will say what I would utter to none else — 
my soul half sinks beneath the mighty burthen I have 
heaped upon it. I want new courage as the dread 
hour approaches ; and from thy words and looks I 
drink it.” 

“ Oh ! ” answered Nina, blushing as she spoke, 
“ glorious is indeed the lot which I have bought by 
my love for thee: glorious to share thy schemes, 
to cheer thee in doubt, to whisper hope to thee in 
danger.” 

“ And give grace to me in triumph ! ” added Rienzi, 
passionately. “ Ah ! should the future ever place 


L, of 0. 


IOO 


RIENZI 


upon these brows the laurel-wreath due to one who 
has saved his country, what joy, what recompence, to 
lay it at thy feet ! Perhaps, in those long and solitary 
hours of languor and exhaustion which fill up the 
interstices of time, — the dull space for sober thought 
between the epochs of exciting action, — perhaps I 
should have failed and flagged, and renounced even 
my dreams for Rome, had they not been linked also 
with my dreams for thee ! — had I not pictured to my- 
self the hour when my fate should elevate me beyond 
my birth ; when thy sire would deem it no disgrace to 
give thee to my arms ; when thou, too, shouldst stand 
amidst the dames of Rome, more honoured, as more 
beautiful, than all ; and when I should see that pomp, 
which my own soul disdains,* made dear and grateful 
to me because associated with thee ! Yes, it is these 
thoughts that have inspired me, when sterner ones 
have shrunk back appalled from the spectres that sur- 
round their goal. And oh ! my Nina, sacred, strong, 
enduring must be, indeed, the love which lives in the 
same pure and elevated air as that which sustains my 
hopes of liberty and fame ! ” 

This was the language which, more even than the 
vows of fidelity and the dear adulation which springs 
from the heart’s exuberance, had bound the proud and 
vain soul of Nina to the chains that it so willingly 
wore. Perhaps, indeed, in the absence of Rienzi, her 
weaker nature pictured to herself the triumph of 
humbling the high-born signoras, and eclipsing the 
.barbarous magnificence of the chiefs of Rome; but in 
his presence, and listening to his more elevated and 

* “ Quem semper abhorrui sicut cenum ” is the expression 
used by Rienzi. in his letter to his friend at Avignon, and 
which was probably sincere. Men rarely act according to the 
bias of their own tastes. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES ioi 


generous ambition, as yet all unsullied by one private 
feelin*g save the hope of her, her higher sympathies 
were enlisted with his schemes, her mind aspired to 
raise itself to the height of his, and she thought less of 
her own rise than of his glory. It was sweet to her 
pride to be the sole confidante of his most secret 
thoughts, as of his most hardy undertakings ; to see 
bared before her that intricate and plotting spirit; to 
be admitted even to the knowledge of its doubts and 
weakness, as of its heroism and power. 

Nothing could be more contrasted than the loves 
of Rienzi and Nina, and those of Adrian and Irene : 
in the latter all were the dreams, the phantasies, the 
extravagance, of youth; they never talked of the 
future ; they mingled no other aspirations with those 
of love. Ambition, glory, the world’s high objects, 
were nothing to them when together; their love had 
swallowed up the world, and left nothing visible be- 
neath the sun, save itself. But the passion of Nina £?hd 
her lover was that of more complicated natures and 
more mature years : it was made up of a thousand 
feelings, each naturally severed from each, but com- 
pelled into one focus by the mighty concentration of 
love ; their talk was of the world ; it was from the world 
that they drew the aliment which sustained it; it was 
of the future they spoke and thought; of its dreams 
and imagined glories they made themselves a home 
and altar; their love had in it more of the Intel- 
lectual than that of Adrian and Irene; it was more 
fitted for this hard earth ; it had in it, also, more of 
the leaven of the later and iron days, and less of 
poetry and the first golden age. 

“ And must thou leave me now ? ” said Nina, her 
cheek no more averted from his lips, nor her form 


102 


RIENZI 


from his parting embrace. “ The moon is high yet ; 
it is but a little hour thou hast given me.” 

“ An hour ! Alas ! ” said Rienzi, “ it is near upon 
midnight — our friends await me.” 

“ Go, then, my soul’s best half ! go ; Nina shall not 
detain thee one moment from those higher objects 
which make thee so dear to Nina. When — when shall 
we meet again ! ” 

“ Not,” said Rienzi, proudly, and with all his soul 
upon his brow, “ not thus, by stealth ! no ! nor as I thus 
have met thee, the obscure and contemned bondsman ! 
When next thou seest me, it shall be at the head of 
the sons of Rome ! her champion ! her restorer ! 

or ” said he, sinking his voice — 

“ There is no or! ” interrupted Nina, weaving her 
arms round him, and catching his enthusiasm ; “ thou 
hast uttered thine own destiny ! ” 

“ One kiss more ! — farewell ! — the tenth day from 
the morrow shines upon the restoration of Rome ! ” 


CHAPTER XII 

THE STRANGE ADVENTURES THAT BEFEL WALTER DE 
MONTREAL 

It was upon that same evening, and while the earlier 
stars yet shone over the city, that Walter de Montreal, 
returning, alone, to the convent then associated with 
the church of Santa Maria del Priorta (both of which 
belonged to the Knights of the Hospital, and in the 
first of which Montreal had taken his lodgment), 
paused amidst the ruins and desolation which lay 
around his path. Though little skilled in the classic 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 103 


memories and associations of the spot, he could not 
but be impressed with the surrounding witnesses of 
departed empire; the vast skeleton, as it were, of the 
dead giantess. 

“ Now,” thought he, as he gazed around upon the 
roofless columns and shattered walls, everywhere vis- 
ible, over which the starlight shone, ghastly and trans- 
parent, backed by the frowning and embattled for- 
tresses of the Frangipani, half hid by the dark foliage 
that sprung up amidst the very fanes and palaces of 
old — Nature exulting over the frailer Art ; “ now,” 
thought he, “ bookmen would be inspired, by this 
scene, with fantastic and dreaming visions of the past. 
But to me these monuments of high ambition and 
royal splendour create only images of the future. 
Rome may yet be, with her seven-hilled diadem, as 
Rome has been before, the prize of the strongest hand 
and the boldest warrior, — revived, not by her own 
degenerate sons, but the infused blood of a new race. 
William the Bastard could scarce have found the 
hardy Englishers so easy a conquest as Walter the 
Well-born may find these eunuch Romans. And 
which conquest were the more glorious, — the bar- 
barous Isle, or the Metropolis of the World? Short 
step from the general to the podesta — shorter step 
from the podesta to the king ! ” 

While thus revolving his wild, yet not altogether 
chimerical ambition, a quick light step was heard 
amidst the long herbage, and, looking up, Montreal 
perceived the figure of a tall female descending from 
that part of the hill then covered by many convents, 
towards the base of the Aventine. She supported her 
steps with a long staff, and moved with such elasticity 
and erectness, that now, as her face became visible by 


104 


RIENZI 


the starlight, it was surprising to perceive that it was 
the face of one advanced in years, — a harsh, proud 
countenance, withered, and deeply wrinkled, but not 
without a certain regularity of outline. 

“ Merciful Virgin ! ” cried Montreal, starting back 
as that face gleamed upon him : “ is it possible ? It is 
she ! — it is ” 

He sprung forward, and stood right before the old 
woman, who seemed equally surprised, though more 
dismayed at the sight of Montreal. 

“ I have sought thee for years,” said the Knight, 
first breaking the silence ; “ years, long years, — thy 
conscience can tell thee why.” 

“ Mine , man of blood ! ” cried the female, trembling 
with rage or fear ; “ darest thou talk of conscience ? 
Thou, the dishonourer — the robber — the professed 
homicide ! Thou, disgrace to knighthood and to birth ! 
Thou, with the cross of chastity and of peace upon thy 
breast! Thou talk of conscience, hypocrite! — thou?” 

“ Lady — lady ! ” said Montreal, deprecatingly, and 
almost quailing beneath the fiery passion of that feeble 
woman, “ I have sinned against thee and thine. But 
remember all my excuses ! — early love — fatal obstacles 
— rash vow — irresistible temptation ! Perhaps,” he 
added, in a more haughty tone, “ perhaps, yet I may 
have the power to atone my error, and wring, with 
mailed hand, from the successor of St. Peter, who hath 
power to loose as to bind ” 

“Perjured and abandoned!” interrupted the female; 
“ dost thou dream that violence can purchase absolu- 
tion, or that thou canst ever atone the past? a noble 
name disgraced, a father’s broken heart and dying 
curse! Yes, that curse, I hear it now! it rings upon 
me thrillingly, as when I watched the expiring clay! 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 105 

it cleaves to thee — it pursues thee — it shall pierce thee 
through thy corselet — it shall smite thee in the 
meridian of thy power ! Genius wasted — ambition 
blasted — penitence deferred — a life of brawls, and a 
death of shame — thy destruction the offspring of thy 
crime ! — To this, to this, an old man’s curse hath 
doomed thee ! — And thou art doomed ! ” 

These words were rather shrieked than spoken : and 
the flashing eye, the lifted hand, the dilated form of the 
speaker — the hour — the solitude of the ruins around 
— all conspired to give to the fearful execration the 
character of prophecy. The warrior, against whose 
undaunted breast a hundred spears had shivered in 
vain, fell appalled and humbled to the ground. He 
seized the hem of his fierce denouncer’s robe, and 
cried, in a choked and hollow voice, “ Spare me ! spare 
me ! ” 

“ Spare thee ! ” said the unrelenting crone ; “ hast 
thou ever spared man in thy hatred, or woman in thy 
lust ? Ah, grovel in the dust ! — crouch — crouch ! — 
wild beast as thou art ; whose sleek skin and beautiful 
hues have taught the unwary to be blind to the talons 
that rend, and the grinders that devour; — crouch, that 
the foot of the old and impotent may spurn thee ! ” 

“ Hag ! ” cried Montreal, in the reaction of sudden 
fury and maddened pride, springing up to the full 
height of his stature. “ Hag ! thou hast passed the 
limits to which, remembering who thou art, my for- 
bearance gave the licence. I had well-iiigh forgot 
that thou hadst assumed my part — I am the Accuser ! 
Woman ! — the boy ! — shrink not ! equivocate not ! lie 
not ! — thou wert the thief ! ” 

“ I was. Thou taughtest me the lesson how to steal 


a- 


io 6 


RIENZI 


“ Render — restore him ! ” interrupted Montreal, 
stamping on the ground with such force that the splin- 
ters of the marble fragments on which he stood shiv- 
ered under his armed heel. 

The woman little heeded a violence at which the 
fiercest warrior of Italy might have trembled ; but she 
did not make an immediate answer. The character of 
her countenance altered from passion into an expres- 
sion of grave, intent, and melancholy thought. At 
length she replied to Montreal ; whose hand had wan- 
dered to his dagger-hilt, with the instinct of long habit, 
whenever enraged or thwarted, rather than from any 
design of blood ; which, stern and vindictive as he 
was, he would have been incapable of forming against 
any woman, — much less against the one then before 
him. 

“ Walter de Montreal,” said she, in a voice so calm 
that it almost sounded like that of compassion, “ the 
boy, I think, has never known brother or sister : the 
only child of a once haughty and lordly race, on both 
sides, though now on both dishonoured — nay, why so 
impatient? thou wilt soon learn the worst — the boy is 
dead ! ” 

“ Dead ! ” repeated Montreal, recoiling and grow- 
ing pale ; “ dead ! — no, no — say not that ! He has a 
mother, — you know he has! — a fond, meekhearted, 
anxious, hoping mother ! — no ! — no, he is not dead ! ” 

“ Thou canst feel then, for a mother? ” said the old 
woman, seemingly touched by the tone of the Pro- 
vencal. “ Yet, bethink thee; is it not better that the 
grave should save him from a life of riot, of bloodshed, 
and of crime ? Better to sleep with God than to wake 
with the fiends ! ” 

“ Dead ? ” echoed Montreal ; “ dead ! — the pretty 


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107 


one! so young! — those eyes — the mother’s eyes — 
closed so soon ? ” 

“ Hast thou aught else to say? Thy sight scares 
my very womanhood from my soul ! — let me be gone.” 

“ Dead ! — may I believe thee ? or dost thou mock 
me ? Thou has uttered thy curse, hearken to my warn- 
ing : — If thou hast lied in this, thy last hour shall dis- 
may thee, and thy death-bed shall be the death-bed of 
despair ! ” 

“ Thy lips,” replied the female, with a scornful smile, 
“are better adapted for lewd vows to unhappy 
maidens, than for the denunciations which sound sol- 
emn only when coming from the good. Farewell ! ” 

“ Stay ! inexorable woman ! stay ! — where sleeps he ? 
Masses shall be sung ! priests shall pray ! — the sins of 
the father shall not be visited on that young head ! ” 

“ At Florence ! ” returned the woman, hastily. 
“ But no stone records the departed one ! — The dead 
boy had no name ! ” 

Waiting for no further questionings, the woman now 
passed on, — pursued her way ; — and the long herbage, 
and the winding descent, soon snatched her ill-omened 
apparition from the desolate landscape. 

Montreal, thus alone, sunk with a deep and heavy 
sigh upon the ground, covered his face with his hands, 
and burst into an agony of grief ; his chest heaved, his 
whole frame trembled, and he wept and sobbed aloud, 
with all the fearful vehemence of a man whose pas- 
sions are strong and fierce, but to whom the violence 
of grief alone is novel and unfamiliar. 

He remained thus, prostrate and unmanned, for a 
considerable time, growing slowly and gradually more 
calm as tears relieved his emotion ; and, at length, 
rather indulging a gloomy reverie than a passionate 


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grief. The moon was high and the hour late when 
he arose, and then few traces of the past excitement 
remained upon his countenance; for Walter de Mon- 
treal was not of that mould in which woe can force a 
settlement, or to which any affliction can bring the 
continued and habitual melancholy that darkens those 
who feel more enduringly, though with emotions less 
stormy. His were the elements of the true Franc 
character, though carried to excess : his sternest and 
his deepest qualities were mingled with fickleness and 
caprice ; his profound sagacity often frustrated by a 
whim ; his towering ambition deserted for some friv- 
olous temptation ; and his elastic, sanguine, and high- 
spirited nature, faithful only to the desire of military 
glory, to the poetry of a daring and stormy life, and 
to the susceptibilities of that tender passion without 
whose colourings no portrait of chivalry is complete, 
and in which he was capable of a sentiment, a tender- 
ness, and a loyal devotion, which could hardly have 
been supposed compatible with his reckless levity and 
his undisciplined career. 

“ Well,” said he, as he rose slowly, folded his mantle 
round him, and resumed his way, “ it was not for 
myself I grieved thus. But the pang is past, and the 
worst is known. Now, then, back to those things that 
never die — restless projects and daring schemes. 
That hag’s curse keeps my blood cold still, and this 
solitude has something in it weird and awful. Ha ! — 
what sudden light is that?” 

The light which caught Montreal’s eye broke forth 
almost like a star, scarcely larger, indeed, but more 
red and intense in its ray. Of itself it was nothing 
uncommon, and might have shone either from convent 
or cottage. But it streamed from a part of the Aven- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 109 

tine which contained no habitations of the living, but 
only the empty ruins and shattered porticoes, of which 
even the names and memories of the ancient inhabit- 
ants were dead. Aware of this, Montreal felt a slight 
awe (as the beam threw its steady light over the dreary 
landscape) ; for he was not without the knightly super- 
stitions of the age, and it was now the witching hour 
consecrated to ghost and spirit. But fear, whether of 
this world or the next, could not long daunt the mind 
of the hardy freebooter; and, after a short hesita- 
tion, he resolved to make a digression from his way, 
and ascertain the cause of the phenomenon. Uncon- 
sciously, the martial tread of the barbarian passed over 
the site of the famed, or infamous temple of Isis, which 
had once witnessed those wildest orgies commemo- 
rated by Juvenal ; and came at last to a thick and dark 
copse, from an opening in the centre of which gleamed 
the mysterious light. Penetrating the gloomy foliage, 
the Knight now found himself before a large ruin, 
gray and roofless, from within which came, indistinct 
and muffled, the sound of voices. Through a rent in 
the wall, forming a kind of casement, and about ten 
feet from the ground, the light now broke over the 
matted and rank soil, embedded, as it were, in vast 
masses of shade, and streaming through a mouldering 
portico hard at hand. The Provengal stood, though 
he knew it not, on the very place once consecrated 
by the Temple : the Portico and the Library of Lib- 
erty (the first public library instituted in Rome). The 
wall of the ruin was covered with innumerable creepers 
and wild brushwood, and it required but little agility 
on the part of Montreal, by the help of these, to raise 
himself to the height of the aperture, and, concealed 
by the luxuriant foliage, to gaze within. He saw a 


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table, lighted with tapers, in the centre of which was 
a crucifix ; a dagger, unsheathed ; an open scroll, which 
the event proved to be of sacred character ; and a 
brazen bowl. About a hundred men, in cloaks, and 
with black vizards, stood motionless around ; and one, 
taller than the rest, without disguise or mask — whose 
pale brow and stern features seemed by that light yet 
paler and yet more stern — appeared to be concluding 
some address to his companions. 

“ Yes,” said he, “ in the church of the Lateran I will 
make the last appeal to the people. Supported by the 
Vicar of the Pope, myself an officer of the Pontiff, it 
will be seen that Religion and Liberty — the heroes 
and the martyrs — are united in one cause. After that 
time, words are idle ; action must begin. By this cru- 
cifix I pledge my faith, on this blade I devote my life, 
to the regeneration of Rome ! And you (then no need 
for mask or mantle !), when the solitary trump is heard, 
when the solitary horseman is seen, — you , swear to 
rally round the standard of the Republic, and resist — 
with heart and hand, with life and soul, in defiance of 
death, and in hope of redemption — the arms of the 
oppressor ! ” 

“We swear — we swear!” exclaimed every voice: 
and, crowding toward cross and weapon, the tapers 
were obscured by the intervening throng, and Mon- 
treal could not perceive the ceremony, nor hear the 
muttered formula of the oath : but he could guess that 
the rite then common to conspiracies — and which 
required each conspirator to shed some drops of his 
own blood, in token that life itself was devoted to the 
enterprise — had not been omitted, when, the group 
again receding, the same figure as before had ad- 
dressed the meeting, holding on high the bowl with 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


1 1 1 


both hands, — while from the left arm, which was bared, 
the blood weltered slowly, and trickled, drop by drop, 
upon the ground, — said, in a solemn voice and with 
upturned eyes : 

“ Amidst the ruins of thy temple, O Liberty ! we, 
Romans, dedicate to thee this libation! We, be- 
friended and inspired by no unreal and fabled idols, 
but by the Lord of Hosts, and Him who, descending 
to earth, appealed not to emperors and to princes, but 
to the fisherman and the peasant, — giving to the lowly 
and the poor the mission of Revelation.” Then, turn- 
ing suddenly to his companions, as his features, sin- 
gularly varying in their character and expression, 
brightened, from solemn awe, into a martial and 
kindling enthusiasm, he cried aloud, “ Death to the 
Tyranny ! Life to the Republic ! ” The effect of the 
transition was -startling. Each man, as by an involun- 
tary and irresistible impulse, laid his hand upon his 
sword, as he echoed the sentiment ; some, indeed, drew 
forth their blades, as if for instant action. 

“ I have seen enow : they will break up anon,” said 
Montreal to himself : “ and I would rather face an 
army of thousands, than even half-a-dozen enthusiasts, 
so inflamed, — and I thus detected.” And, with this 
thought, he dropped on the ground, and glided away, 
as, once again, through the still midnight air, broke 
upon his ear the muffled shout — “ Death to the 
Tyranny ! — Life to the Republic ! ” 


BOOK II 

THE REVOLUTION 


“ Ogni Lascivia, ogni male, nulla giustizia, nullo freno. 
Non c’era piu remedia, ogni persona periva. Allora Cola di 
Rienzi,” &c . — Vita di Cola di Rienzi, lib. i. chap. 2. 

“ Every kind of lewdness, every form of evil; no justice, no 
restraint. Remedy there was none; perdition fell on all. 
Then Cola di Rienzi,” &c . — Life of Cola di Rienzi. 


CHAPTER I 

THE KNIGHT OF PROVENCE, AND HIS PROPOSAL 

It was nearly noon as Adrian entered the gates of 
the palace of Stephen Colonna. The palaces of the 
nobles were not then as we see them now, receptacles 
for the immortal canvas of Italian, and the imperish- 
able sculpture of Grecian Art ; but still to this day are 
retained the massive walls, and barred windows, and 
spacious courts, which at that time protected their 
rude retainers. High above the gates rose a lofty 
and solid tower, whose height commanded a wide view 
of the mutilated remains of Rome : the gate itself was 
adorned and strengthened on either side by columns 
of granite, whose Doric capitals betrayed the sacrilege 
that had torn them from one of the many temples that 
had formerly crowded the sacred Forum. From the 
same spoils came, too, the vast fragments of traver- 
tine which made the walls of the outer court. So 


112 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 1 13 

common at that day were these barbarous appropria- 
tions of the most precious monuments of art, that the 
columns and domes of earlier Rome were regarded 
by all classes but as quarries, from which every man 
was free to gather the materials, whether for his castle 
or his cottage, — a wantonness of outrage far greater 
than the Goths’, to whom a later age would fain have 
attributed all the disgrace, and which, more perhaps 
than even heavier offences, excited the classical indig- 
nation of Petrarch, and made him sympathise with 
Rienzi in his hopes of Rome. Still may you see the. 
churches of that or even earlier dates, of the most 
shapeless architecture, built on the sites, and from the 
marbles, consecrating (rather than consecrated by) the 
names of Venus, of Jupiter, of Minerva. The pal- 
ace of the Prince of the Orsini, duke of Gravina, 
is yet reared above the graceful arches (still visible) 
of the theatre of Marcellus ; then a fortress of the 
Savelli. 

As Adrian passed the court, a heavy waggon 
blocked up the way, laden with huge marbles, dug 
from the unexhausted mine of the Golden House of 
Nero: they were intended for an additional tower, 
by which Stephen Colonna proposed yet more to 
strengthen the tasteless and barbarous edifice in which 
the old noble maintained the dignity of outraging the 
law. 

The friend of Petrarch and the pupil of Rienzi 
sighed deeply as he passed this vehicle of new spolia- 
tions, and as a pillar of fluted alabaster, rolling care- 
lessly from the waggon, fell with a loud crash upon 
the pavement. At the foot of the stairs grouped some 
dozen of the bandits whom the old Colonna enter- 
tained : they were playing at dice upon an ancient 
8 


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1 14 

tomb, the clear and deep inscription on which (so dif- 
ferent from the slovenly character of the later empire) 
bespoke it a memorial of the most powerful age of 
Rome, and which, now empty even of ashes, and upset, 
served for a table to these foreign savages, and was 
strewn, even at that early hour, with fragments of 
meat and flasks of wine. They scarcely stirred, they 
scarcely looked up, as the young noble passed them ; 
and their fierce oaths and loud ejaculations, uttered in 
a northern patois , grated harsh upon his ear, as he 
mounted, with a slow step, -the lofty and unclean stairs. 
He came into a vast ante-chamber, which was half- 
filled with the higher class of the patrician’s retainers : 
some five or six pages, chosen from the inferior 
noblesse, congregated by a narrow and deep-sunk 
casement, were discussing the grave matters of gal- 
lantry and intrigue ; three petty chieftains of the band 
below, with their corselets donned, and their swords 
and casques beside them, were sitting, stolid and 
silent, at a table, in the middle of the room, and might 
have been taken for automatons, save for the solemn 
regularity with which they ever and anon lifted to their 
moustachioed lips their several goblets, and then, with 
a complacent grunt, re-settled to their contemplations. 
Striking was the contrast which their northern phlegm 
presented to a crowd of Italian clients, and petitioners, 
and parasites, who walked restlessly to and fro, talking 
loudly to each other, with all the vehement gestures 
and varying physiognomy of southern vivacity. There 
was a general stir and sensation as Adrian broke upon 
this miscellaneous company. The bandit captains 
nodded their heads mechanically; the pages bowed, 
and admired the fashion of his plume and hose; the 
clients, and petitioners, and parasites, crowded round 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 115 

him, each with a separate request for interest with his 
potent kinsman. Great need had Adrian of his 
wonted urbanity and address, in extricating himself 
from their grasp ; and painfully did he win, at last, the 
low and narrow door, at which stood a tall servitor, 
who admitted or rejected the applicants, according to 
his interest or caprice. 

“ Is the Baron alone ? ” asked Adrian. 

“ Why, no, my Lord : a foreign signor is with him — 
but to you he is of course visible.” 

“ Well, you may admit me. I would inquire of his 
health.” 

, The servitor opened the door — through whose aper- 
ture peered many a jealous and wistful eye— and con- 
signed Adrian to the guidance of a page, who, older 
and of greater esteem than the loiterers in the ante- 
room, was the especial henchman of the Lord of the 
Castle. Passing another, but empty chamber, vast 
and dreary, Adrian found himself in a small cabinet, 
and in the presence of his kinsman. 

Before a table, bearing the implements of writing, 
sate the old Colonna: a robe of rich furs and velvet 
hung loose upon his tall and stately frame : from a 
round skull-cap, of comforting warmth and crimson 
hue, a few gray locks descended, and mixed with a 
long and reverent beard. The countenance of the 
aged noble, who had long passed his eightieth year, 
still retained the traces of a comeliness for which in 
earlier manhood he was remarkable. His eyes, if 
deep-sunken, were still keen and lively, and sparkled 
with all the fire of youth ; his mouth curved upward 
in a pleasant, though half-satiric, smile ; and his 
appearance on the whole was prepossessing and com- 
manding, indicating rather the high blood, the shrewd 


1 16 


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wit, and, the gallant valour of the patrician, than his 
craft, hypocrisy, and habitual but disdainful spirit of 
oppression. 

Stephen Colonna, without being absolutely a hero, 
was indeed far braver than most of the Romans, 
though he held fast to the Italian maxim — never to 
fight an enemy while it is possible to cheat him. Two 
faults, however, marred the effect of his sagacity: a 
supreme insolence of disposition, and a profound belief 
in the lights of his experience. He was incapable of 
analogy. What had never happened in his time, he 
was perfectly persuaded never could happen. Thus, 
though generally esteemed an able diplomatist, he had 
the cunning of the intriguant, and not the providence 
of a statesman. If, however, pride made him arrogant 
in prosperity, it supported him in misfortune. And in 
the earlier vicissitudes of a life which had partly been 
consumed in exile, he had developed many noble qual- 
ities of fortitude, endurance, and real greatness of soul ; 
which showed that his failings were rather acquired 
by circumstance than derived from nature. His 
numerous and high-born race were proud of their 
chief ; and with justice; for he was the ablest and most 
honoured, not only of the direct branch of the 
Colonna, but also, perhaps, of all the more powerful 
barons. 

Seated at the same table with Stephen Colonna was 
a man of noble presence, of about three or four and 
thirty years of age, in whom Adrian instantly recog- 
nised Walter de Montreal. This celebrated knight 
was scarcely of the personal appearance which might 
have corresponded with the terror his name generally 
excited. His face was handsome, almost to the ex- 
treme of womanish delicacy. His fair hair waved 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 1 17 

long and freely over a white and unwrinkled forehead : 
the life of a camp and the suns of Italy had but little 
embrowned his clear and healthful complexion, which 
retained much of the bloom of youth. His features 
were aquiline and regular; his eyes, of a light hazel, 
were large, bright, and penetrating ; and a short, but 
curled beard and moustachio, trimmed with soldier- 
like precision, and very little darker than the hair, 
gave indeed a martial expression to his comely coun- 
tenance, but rather the expression which might have 
suited the hero of courts and tournaments, than the 
chief of a brigand’s camp. The aspect, manner, and 
bearing, of the Provenqal were those which captivate 
rather than awe, — blending, as they did, a certain 
military frankness with the easy and graceful dignity 
of one conscious of gentle birth, and accustomed to 
mix, on equal terms, with the great and noble. His 
form happily contrasted and elevated the character of 
a countenance which required strength and stature to 
free its uncommon beauty from the charge of effemi- 
nacy, being of great height and remarkable muscular 
power, without the least approach to clumsy and 
unwieldy bulk : it erred, indeed, rather to the side of 
leanness than flesh, — at once robust and slender. But 
the chief personal distinction of this warrior, the most 
redoubted lance of Italy, was an air and carriage of 
chivalric and heroic grace, greatly set off at this time 
by his splendid dress, which was of brown velvet sown 
with pearls, over which hung the surcoat worn by the 
Knights of the Hospital, whereon was wrought, in 
white, the eight-pointed cross that made the badge of 
his order. The Knight’s attitude was that of earnest 
conversation, bending slightly forward towards the 
Colonna,and resting both his hands — which (according 


1 1 8 


RIENZI 


to the usual distinction of the old Norman race,* from 
whom, though born in Provence, Montreal boasted his 
descent) were small and delicate, the fingers being 
covered with jewels, as was the fashion of the day — 
upon the golden hilt of an enormous sword, on the 
sheath of which was elaborately wrought the silver 
lilies that made the device of the Provencal Brother- 
hood of Jerusalem. 

“ Good morrow, fair kinsman ! ” said Stephen. 
“ Seat thyself, I pray ; and know in this knightly vis- 
itor the celebrated Sieur de Montreal.” 

“ Ah, my Lord,” said Montreal, smiling, as he 
saluted Adrian ; “ and how is my lady at home ? ” 

“ You mistake, Sir Knight,” quoth Stephen : “ my 
young kinsman is not yet married : ’ faith, as Pope 
Boniface remarked, when he lay stretched on a sick 
bed, and his confessor talked to him about Abraham’s 
bosom, ‘ that is a pleasure the greater for being de- 
ferred.’ ” 

“ The Signor will pardon my mistake,” returned 
Montreal. 

“ But not,” said Adrian, “ the neglect of Sir Walter 
in not ascertaining the fact in person. My thanks to 
him, noble kinsman, are greater than you weet of ; and 
he promised to visit me, that he might receive them 
at leisure.” 

“ I assure you, Signor,” answered Montreal, “ that 
I have not forgotten the invitation ; but so weighty 
hitherto have been my affairs at Rome, that I have 

* Small hands and feet, however disproportioned to the 
rest of the person, were at that time deemed no less a dis- 
tinction of the well-born, than they have been in a more re- 
fined age. Many readers will remember the pain occasioned 
to Petrarch by his tight shoes. The supposed beauty of this 
peculiarity is more derived from the feudal than the classic 
time. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 119 

been obliged to parley with my impatience to better 
our acquaintance.” 

“ Oh, ye knew each other before ? ” said Stephen. 
“ And how?” 

“ My Lord, there is a damsel in the case ! ” replied 
Montreal. “ Excuse my silence.” 

“ Ah, Adrian, Adrian ! when will you learn my con- 
tinence ! ” said Stephen, solemnly stroking his gray 
beard. “ What an example I set you ! But a truce to 
this light conversation, — let us resume our theme. 
You must know, Adrian, that it is to the brave 
band of my guest I am indebted for those val- 
iant gentlemen below, who keep Rome so quiet, 
though my poor habitation so noisy. He has called 
to proffer more assistance, if ne£d be; and to advise 
me on the affairs of Northern Italy. Continue, I pray 
thee, Sir Knight; I have no disguises from my kins- 
man.” 

“ Thou seest,” said Montreal, fixing his penetrating 
eyes on Adrian, “ thou seest, doubtless, my Lord, that 
Italy at this moment presents to us a remarkable spec- 
tacle. It is a contest between two opposing powers, 
which shall destroy the other. The one power is that 
of the unruly and turbulent people — a power which 
they call ‘ Liberty ’ ; the other power is that of the 
chiefs and princes — a power which they more appro- 
priately call ‘ Order.' Between these parties the cities 
of Italy are divided. In Florence, in Genoa, in Pisa, for 
instance, is established a Free State — a Republic, God 
wot! and a more riotous, unhappy state of govern- 
ment, cannot well be imagined.” 

“ That is perfectly true,” quoth Stephen ; “ they ban- 
ished my own first cousin from Genoa.” 

“ A perpetual strife, in short,” continued Montreal, 


120 


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“ between the great families ; an alternation of prose- 
cutions, and confiscations, and banishments : to-day, 
the Guelfs proscribe the Ghibellines — to-morrow, the 
Ghibellines drive out the Guelfs. This may be liberty, 
but it is the liberty of the strong against the weak. In 
the other cities, as Milan, as Verona, as Bologna, the 
people are under the rule of one man, — who calls him- 
self a prince, and whom his enemies call a tyrant. 
Having more force than any other citizen, he pre- 
serves a firm government ; having more constant 
demand on his intellect and energies than the other 
citizens, he also preserves a wise one. These two 
orders of government are enlisted against each other : 
whenever the people in the one rebel against their 
prince, the people of the other — that is the Free States 
— send arms and money to their assistance.” 

“ You hear, Adrian, how wicked those last are,” 
quoth Stephen. 

“ Now it seems to me,” continued Montreal, “ that 
this contest must end some time or other. All Italy 
must become republican or monarchical. It is easy 
to predict which will be the result.” 

“ Yes, Liberty must conquer in the end ! ” said 
Adrian, warmly. 

“ Pardon me, young Lord ; my opinion is entirely 
the reverse. You perceive that these republics are 
commercial, — are traders; they esteem wealth, they 
despise valour, they cultivate all trades save that of 
the armourer. Accordingly, how do they maintain 
themselves in war? By their own citizens? Not a 
whit of it! Either they send to some foreign chief, 
and promise, if he grant them his protection, the prin- 
cipality of the city for five or ten years in return ; or 
else they borrow from some hardy adventurer, like 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 121 


myself, as many troops as they can afford to pay for. 
Is it not so, Lord Adrian ? ” 

Adrian nodded his reluctant assent. 

“ Well, then, it is the fault of the foreign chief if 
he do not make his power permanent; as has been 
already done in States once free by the Visconti and 
the Scala : or else it is the fault of the captain of the 
mercenaries if he do not convert his brigands into sen- 
ators, and himself into a king. These are events so 
natural, that one day or other they will occur through- 
out all Italy. And all Italy will then become mon- 
archical. Now it seems to me the interest of all the 
powerful families — your own, at Rome, as that of the 
Visconti at Milan — to expedite this epoch, and to 
check, while you yet may with ease, that rebellious 
contagion amongst the people which is now rapidly 
spreading, and which ends in the fever of licence to 
them, but in the corruption of death to you. In these 
free States, the nobles are the first to suffer : first your 
privileges, then your property, are swept away. Nay, 
in Florence, as ye well know, my Lords, no noble is 
even capable of holding the meanest office in the 
State ! ” 

“ Villains ! ” said Colonna, “ they violate the first 
law of nature ! ” 

“ At this moment,” resumed Montreal, who, en- 
grossed with his subject, little heeded the interrup- 
tions he received from the holy indignation of the 
Baron : “ at this moment, there are many — the wisest, 
perhaps, in the free States — who desire to renew the old 
Lombard leagues, in defence of their common freedom 
everywhere, and against whosoever shall aspire to be 
prince. Fortunately, the deadly jealousies between 
these merchant States — the base plebeian jealousies — 


122 


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more of trade than of glory — interpose at present an 
irresistible obstacle to this design ; and Florence, the 
most stirring and the most esteemed of all, is happily 
so reduced by reverses of commerce as to be utterly 
unable to follow out so great an undertaking. Now, 
then, is the time for us, my Lords; while these 
obstacles are so great for our foes, now is the time for 
us to form and cement a counter-league between all 
the princes of Italy. To you, noble Stephen, I have 
come, as your rank demands, — alone of all the barons 
of Rome, — to propose to you this honourable union. 
Observe what advantages it proffers to your house. 
The popes have abandoned Rome for ever; there is 
no counterpoise to your ambition, — there need be 
none to your power. You see before you the exam- 
ples of Visconti and Taddeo di Pep'oli. You may 
found in Rome, the first city of Italy, a supreme 
and uncontrolled principality, subjugate utterly your 
weaker rivals, — the Savelli, the Malatesta, the Orsini, 
— and leave to your sons’ sons an hereditary kingdom 
that may aspire once more, perhaps, to the empire of 
the world.” 

Stephen shaded his face with his hand as he 
answered : “ But this, noble Montreal, requires means : 
— money and men.” 

“ Of the last, you can command from me enow — my 
small company, the best disciplined, can (whenever I 
please) swell to the most numerous in Italy: in the 
first, noble Baron, the rich house of Colonna cannot 
fail ; and even a mortgage on its vast estates may be 
well repaid when you have possessed yourselves of the 
whole revenues of Rome. You see,” continued Mon- 
treal, turning to Adrian, in whose youth he expected a 
more warm ally than in his hoary kinsman : “ you see 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 123 

at a glance how feasible is this project, and what a 
mighty field it opens to your House.” 

“ Sir Walter de Montreal,” said Adrian, rising from 
his seat, and giving vent to the indignation he had with 
difficulty suppressed, “ I grieve much that, beneath the 
roof of the first citizen of Rome, a stranger should 
attempt thus calmly, and without interruption, to 
excite the ambition of emulating the execrated celeb- 
rity of a Visconti or a Pepoli. Speak, my Lord ! 
(turning to Stephen) — speak, noble kinsman ! and tell 
this Knight of Provence, that if by a Colonna the 
ancient grandeur of Rome cannot be restored, it shall 
not be, at least, by a Colonna that her last wrecks of 
liberty shall be swept away.” 

“ How now, Adrian ! — how now, sweet kinsman ! ” 
said Stephen, thus suddenly appealed to, “ calm thy- 
self, I pr’ythee. Noble Sir Walter, he is young — 
young and hasty — he means not to offend thee.” 

“ Of that I am persuaded,” returned Montreal, 
coldly, but with great and courteous command of tem- 
per. “ He speaks from the impulse of the moment, — 
a praiseworthy fault in youth. It was mine at his age, 
and many a time have I nearly lost my life for the 
rashness. Nay, Signor, nay ! — touch not your sword 
so meaningly, as if you fancied I intimated a threat; 
far from me such presumption. I have learned suf- 
ficient caution, believe me, in the wars, not wantonly 
to draw against me a blade which I have seen wielded 
against such odds.” 

Touched, despite himself, by the courtesy of the 
Knight, and the allusion to a scene in which, perhaps, 
his life had been preserved by Montreal, Adrian 
extended his hand to the latter. 

“ I was to blame for my haste,” said he, frankly ; 


124 


RIENZI 


“ but know, by my very heat,” he added more gravely, 
“ that your project will find no friends among the 
Colonna. Nay, in the presence of my noble kinsman, 
I dare to tell you, that could even his high sanction 
lend itself to such a scheme, the best hearts of his 
house would desert him ; and I myself, his kinsman, 
would man yonder castle against so unnatural an 
ambition ! ” 

A slight and scarce perceptible cloud passed over 
Montreal’s countenance at these words ; and he bit 
his lip ere he replied : 

“Yet if the Orsini be less scrupulous, their first 
exertion of power would be heard in the crashing 
house of the Colonna.” 

“ Know you,” returned Adrian, “ that one of our 
mottoes is this haughty address to the Romans, — ' If 
we fall, ye fall also ’ ? And better that fate, than a 
rise upon the wrecks of our native city.” 

“Well, well, well!” said Montreal, re-seating him- 
self, “ I see that I must leave Rome to herself, — the 
League must thrive without her aid. I did but jest, 
touching the Orsini, for they have not the power that 
would make their efforts safe. Let us sweep, then, 
our past conference from our recollection. It is the 
nineteenth, I think, Lord Colonna, on which you pro- 
pose to repair to Corneto, with your friends and 
retainers, and on which you have invited my attend- 
ance? ” 

“ It is on that day, Sir Knight,” replied the Baron, 
evidently much relieved by the turn the conversation 
had assumed. “ The fact is, that we have been so 
charged with indifference to the interests of the good 
people, that I strain a point in this expedition to con- 
tradict the assertion; and we propose, therefore, to 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 125 

escort and protect, against the robbers of the road, a 
convoy of corn to Corneto. In truth, I may add an- 
other reason, besides fear of the robbers, that makes 
me desire as numerous a train as possible. I wish to 
show my enemies, and the people generally, the solid 
and growing power of my house ; the display of such 
an armed band as I hope to levy, will be a magnificent 
occasion to strike awe into the riotous and refractory. 
Adrian, you will collect your servitors, I trust, on that 
day ; we would not be without you.” 

“ And as we ride along, fair Signor,” said Montreal, 
inclining to Adrian, “ we will find at least one subject 
on which we can agree : all brave men and true 
knights have one common topic, — and its name is 
Woman. You must make me acquainted with the 
names of the fairest dames of Rome ; and we will dis- 
cuss old adventures in the Parliament of Love, and 
hope for new. By the way, I suppose, Lord Adrian, 
you, with the rest of your countrymen, are Petrarch- 
stricken ? ” 

“ Do you not share our enthusiasm ? slur not so 
your gallantry, I pray you.” 

“ Come, we must not again disagree ; but, by my 
halidame, I think one troubadour roundel worth all 
that Petrarch ever wrote. He has but borrowed from 
our knightly poesy to disguise it, like a carpet cox- 
comb.” 

“ Well,” said Adrian, gaily, “ for every line of the 
troubadours that you quote, I will cite you another. 
I will forgive you for injustice to Petrarch, if you are 
just to the troubadours.” 

“ Just ! ” cried Montreal, with real enthusiasm : “ I 
am of the land, nay, the very blood of the trouba- 
dour! But we grow too light for your noble kins- 


126 


RIENZI 


man ; and it is time for me to bid you, for the present, 
farewell. My Lord Colonna, peace be with you ; fare- 
well, Sir Adrian, — brother mine in knighthood, — 
remember your challenge.” 

And with an easy and careless grace the Knight of 
St. John took his leave. The old Baron, making a 
dumb sign of excuse to Adrian, followed Montreal into 
the adjoining room. 

“ Sir Knight ! ” said he, “ Sir Knight ! ” as he closed 
the door upon Adrian, and then drew Montreal to the 
recess of the casement, — “ a word in your ear. Think 
not I slight your offer, but these young men must be 
managed ; the plot is great — noble — grateful to my 
heart ; but it requires time and caution. I have many 
of my house, scrupulous as yon hot-skull, to win over ; 
the way is pleasant, but must be sounded well and 
carefully ; you understand ? ” 

From under his bent brows, Montreal darted one 
keen glance at Stephen, and then answered : 

“ My friendship for you dictated my offer. The 
League may stand without the Colonna, — beware a 
time when the Colonna cannot stand without the 
League. My Lord, look well around you ; there are 
more freemen — ay, bold and stirring ones, too — in 
Rome, than you imagine. Beware Rienzi! Adieu, 
we meet soon again.” 

Thus saying, Montreal departed, soliloquising as he 
passed with his careless step through the crowded 
ante-room : 

“ I shall fail here ! — these caitiff nobles have neither 
the courage to be great, nor the wisdom to be honest. 
Let them fall ! — I may find an adventurer from the 
people, an adventurer like myself, worth them all.” 

No sooner had Stephen returned to Adrian than he 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 127 

flung his arms affectionately round his ward, who was 
preparing his pride for some sharp rebuke for his 
petulance. 

“ Nobly feigned, — admirable, admirable ! ” cried 
the Baron ; “ you have learned the true art of a states- 
man at the Emperor’s court. I always thought you 
would — always said it. You saw the dilemma I was 
in, thus taken by surprise by that barbarian’s mad 
scheme ; afraid to refuse, — more afraid to accept. You 
extricated me with consummate address : that passion, 
— so natural to your age, — was a famous feint; drew 
off the attacks ; gave me time to breathe ; allowed me to 
play with the savage. But we must not offend him, 
you know: all my retainers would desert me, or sell 
me to the Orsini, or cut my throat, if he but held up 
his finger. Oh ! it was admirably managed, Adrian — 
admirably ! ” 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” said Adrian, with some dif- 
ficulty recovering the breath which his astonishment 
had taken away, “ you do not think of embracing that 
black proposition ? ” 

“ Think of it ! no, indeed ! ” said Stephen, throwing 
himself back on his chair. “ Why, do you not know 
my age, boy? Hard on my ninetieth year, I should 
be a fool indeed to throw myself into such a whirl of 
turbulence and agitation. I want to keep what I have, 
not risk it by grasping more. Am I not the beloved 
of the pope? shall I hazard his excommunication? 
Am I not the most powerful of the nobles? should I 
be more if I were king? At my age, to talk to me of 
such stuff! — the man’s an idiot. Besides,” added the 
old man, sinking his voice, and looking fearfully 
round, “ if I were a king, my sons might poison me for 
the succession. They are good lads, Adrian, very! 


128 


RIENZI 


But such a temptation ! — I would not throw it in their 
way; these gray hairs have experience! Tyrants 
don’t die a natural death; no, no! Plague on the 
Knight, say I ; he has already cast me into a cold 
sweat.” 

Adrian gazed on the working features of the old 
man, whose selfishness thus preserved him from crime. 
He listened to his concluding words — full of the dark 
truth of the times ; and as the high and pure ambition 
of Rienzi flashed upon him in contrast, he felt that 
he could not blame its fervour or wonder at its excess. 

“ And then, too,” resumed the Baron, speaking 
more deliberately as he recovered his self-possession, 
“ this man, by way of a warning, shows me, at a 
glance, his whole ignorance of the state. What think 
you? he has mingled with the mob, and taken their 
rank breath for power ; yes, he thinks words are 
soldiers, and bade me — me, Stephen Colonna — beware 
— of whom, think you? No, you will never guess! — 
of that speech-maker, Rienzi! my own old jesting 
guest ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! — the ignorance of these barba- 
rians ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ” and the old man laughed till the 
tears ran down his cheeks. 

“ Yet many of the nobles fear that same Rienzi,” 
said Adrian, gravely. 

“ Ah ! let them, let them ! — they have not our experi- 
ence — our knowledge of the world, Adrian. Tut, 
man, — when did declamation ever overthrow castles, 
and conquer soldiery? I like Rienzi to harangue the 
mob about old Rome, and such stuff; it gives them 
something to think of and prate about, and so all their 
fierceness evaporates in words ; they might burn a 
house if they did not hear a speech. But, now I am 
on that score, I must own the pedant has grown impu- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 129 

dent in his new office; here, here, — I received this 
paper ere I rose to-day. I hear a similar insolence 
has been shown to all the nobles. Read it, will you,” 
and the Colonna put a scroll into his kinsman’s hand. 

“ I have received the like,” said Adrian, glancing 
at it. “ It is a request of Rienzi’s to attend at the 
Church of St. John of Lateran, to hear explained the 
inscription on a Table just discovered. It bears, he 
saith, the most intimate connexion with the welfare 
and state of Rome.” 

“ Very entertaining, I dare to say, to professors and 
bookmen. Pardon me, kinsman ; I forgot your taste 
for these things ; and my son, Gianni, too, shares your 
fantasy. Well, well ! it is innocent enough ! Go — the 
man talks well.” 

“ Will you not attend, too? ” 

“ I — my dear boy — I ! ” said the old Colonna, open- 
ing his eyes in such astonishment that Adrian could 
not help laughing at the simplicity of his own ques- 
tion. 


CHAPTER II 

THE INTERVIEW, AND THE DOUBT 

As Adrian turned from the palace of his guardian, 
and bent his way in the direction of the Forum, he 
came somewhat unexpectedly upon Raimond, Bishop 
of Orvietto, who, mounted upon a low palfrey, and 
accompanied by some three or four of his waiting- 
men, halted abruptly when he recognised the young 
noble. 

“ Ah, my son ! it is seldom that I see thee : how fares 
it with thee?— well? So, so! I rejoice to hear it. 


9 


130 


RIENZI 


Alas ! what a state of society is ours, when compared 
to the tranquil pleasures of Avignon ! There, all men 
who, like us, are fond of the same pursuits, the same 
studies, delicice musarum, hum ! hum ! (the Bishop was 
proud of an occasional quotation, right or wrong), are 
brought easily and naturally together. But here we 
scarcely dare stir out of our houses, save upon great 
occasions. But, talking of great occasions, and the 
Muses, reminds me of our good Rienzi’s invitation to 
the Lateran : of course you will attend ; ’tis a mighty 
knotty piece of Latin he proposes to solve — so I hear, 
at least : very interesting to us, my son, — very ! ” 

“ It is to-morrow,” answered Adrian. “Yes, as- 
suredly ; I will be there.” 

“ And harkye, my son,” said the Bishop, resting his 
hand affectionately on Adrian’s shoulder, “ I have 
reason to hope that he will remind our poor citizens of 
the Jubilee for the year Fifty, and stir them towards 
clearing the road of the brigands : a necessary injunc- 
tion, and one to be heeded timeously; for who will 
come here for absolution when he stands a chance of 
rushing unannealed upon purgatory by the way? You 
have heard Rienzi, — ay? quite a Cicero — quite! Well, 
Heaven bless you, my son ! you will not fail? ” 

“ Nay, not I ! ” 

“ Yet, stay — a word with you : just suggest to all 
whom you may meet the advisability of a full meeting ; 
it looks well for the city to show respect to letters.” 

“ To say nothing of the Jubilee,” added Adrian, 
smiling. 

“ Ah, to say nothing of the Jubilee — very good ! 
Adieu for the present ! ” And the Bishop, resettling 
himself on his saddle, ambled solemnly on to visit his 
various friends, and press them to the meeting. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 131 

Meanwhile, Adrian continued his course till he had 
passed the Capitol, the Arch of Severus, the crumbling 
columns of the fane of Jupiter, and found himself 
amidst the long grass, the whispering reeds, and the 
neglected vines that wave over the now-vanished 
pomp of the Golden House of Nero. Seating himself 
on a fallen pillar — by that spot where the traveller 
descends to the (so-called) Baths of Livia — he looked 
impatiently to the sun, as if to blame it for the slow- 
ness of its march. 

Not long, however, had he to wait before a light 
step was heard crushing the fragrant grass ; and 
presently through the arching vines gleamed a face 
that might well have seemed the nymph, the goddess 
of the scene. 

“ My beautiful ! my Irene ! — how shall I thank 
thee ! ” 

It was long before the delighted lover suffered him- 
self to observe upon Irene’s face a sadness that did not 
usually cloud it in his presence. Her voice, too, 
trembled ; her words seemed constrained and cold. 

“ Have I offended thee? ” he asked; “ or what less 
misfortune hath occurred?” 

Irene raised her eyes to her lover’s, and said, look- 
ing at him earnestly, “ Tell me, my Lord, in sober and 
simple truth, tell me, would it grieve thee much were 
this to be our last meeting? ” 

Paler than the marble at his feet grew the dark 
cheek of Adrian. It was some moments ere he could 
reply, and he did so then with a forced smile and a 
quivering lip. 

“Jest not so, Irene! Last! — that is not a word for 
ps ! ” 

( * But hear me, my Lord — 


132 


RIENZI 


“ Why so cold ? — call me Adrian ! — friend ! — lover ! 
or be dumb ! ” 

“Well, then, my soul’s soul! my all of hope! my 
life’s life ! ” exclaimed Irene, passionately, “ hear me ! 
I fear that we stand at this moment upon some gulf 
whose depth I see not, but which may divide us for 
ever! Thou knowest the real nature of my brother, 
and dost not misread him as many do. Long has he 
planned, and schemed, and communed with himself, 
and, feeling his way amidst the people, prepared the 

path to some great design. But now (thou wilt 

not betray — thou wilt not injure him? — he is thy 
friend !)” 

“ And thy brother ! I would give my life for his ! 
Say on ! ” 

“ But now, then,” resumed Irene, “ the time for that 
enterprise, whatever it be, is coming fast. I know 
not of its exact nature, but I know that it is against 
the nobles — against thy order — against thy house 
itself ! If it succeed — oh, Adrian ! thou thyself mayst 
not be free from danger; and my name, at lea£t, will 
be coupled with the name of thy foes. If it fail, — my 
brother, my bold brother, is swept away ! He will fall 
a victim to revenge or justice, call it as you will. Your 
kinsman may be his judge — his executioner; and 
I — even if I should yet live to mourn over the boast 
and glory of my humble line — could I permit myself 
to love, to see, one in whose veins flowed the blood 
of his destroyer ? Oh ! I am wretched ! — wretched ! 
these thoughts make me well-nigh mad ! ” and wring- 
ing her hands bitterly Irene sobbed aloud. 

Adrian himself was struck forcibly by the picture 
thus presented to him, although the alternative it 
embraced had often before forced itself dimly on his 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 133 

mind. It was true, however, that, not seeing the 
schemes of Rienzi backed by any physical power, and 
never yet having witnessed the mighty force of a 
moral revolution, he did not conceive that any rise to 
which he might instigate the people could be per- 
manently successful : and, as for his punishment, in 
that city, where all justice was the slave of interest, 
Adrian knew himself powerful enough to obtain for- 
giveness even for the greatest of all crimes — armed 
insurrection against the nobles. As these thoughts 
recurred to him, he gained the courage to console and 
cheer Irene. But his efforts were only partially suc- 
cessful. Awakened by her fears to that consideration 
of the future which hitherto she had forgotten, Irene, 
for the first time, seemed deaf to the charmer’s voice. 

“ Alas ! ” said she, sadly, “ even at the best, what 
can this love, that we have so blindly encouraged — 
what can it end in ? Thou must not wed with one like 
me ! and I ! how foolish I have been ! ” 

“ Recall thy senses then, Irene,” said Adrian, 
proudly, partly perhaps in anger, partly in his experi- 
ence of the sex. “ Love another, and more wisely, if 
thou wilt; cancel thy vows with me, and continue to 
think it a crime to love, and a folly to be true ! ” 

“ Cruel ! ” said Irene, falteringly, and in her turn 
alarmed. “Dost thou speak in earnest?” 

“ Tell me, ere I answer you, tell me this : come 
death, come anguish, come a whole life of sorrow, as 
the end of this love, wouldst thou yet repent that thou 
hast loved? If so, thou knowest not the love that I 
feel for thee.” 

“Never! never can I repent!” said Irene, falling 
upon Adrian’s neck ; “ forgive me ! ” 

“ But is there, in truth,” said Adrian, a little while 


134 


RIENZI 


after this lover-like quarrel and reconciliation, “ is 
there, in truth, so marked a difference between thy 
brother’s past and his present bearing? How know- 
est thou that the time for action is so near? ” 

“ Because now he sits closeted whole nights with all 
ranks of men; he shuts up his books, — he reads no 
more, — but when alone, walks to and fro his chamber, 
muttering to himself. Sometimes he pauses before 
the calendar, which of late, he has fixed with his own 
hand against the wall, and passes his finger over the 
letters, till he comes to some chosen date, and then 
he plays with his sword and smiles. But two nights 
since, arms, too, in great number were brought to the 
house ; and I heard the chief of the men who brought 
them, a grim giant, known well amongst the people, 
say, as he wiped his brow, — ‘ these will see work 
soon ! ’ ” 

“ Arms ! Are you sure of that ? ” said Adrian, 
anxiously. “ Nay, then, there is more in these 
schemes than I imagined ! But ” (observing Irene’s 
gaze bent fearfully on him as his voice changed, he 
added more gaily) — “ but come what may — believe 
me, — my beautiful ! my adored ! that while I live, thy 
brother shall not suffer from the wrath he may pro- 
voke, — nor I, though he forget our ancient friendship, 
cease to love thee less.” 

“ Signora ! Signora ! child ! it is time ! we must go ! ” 
said the shrill voice of Benedetta, now peering through 
the foliage. “ The working men pass home this way ; 
I see them approaching.” 

The lovers parted ; for the first time the serpent had 
penetrated into their Eden, — they had conversed, they 
had thought, of other things than Love. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 135 


CHAPTER III 

THE SITUATION OF A POPULAR PATRICIAN IN TIMES 

OF POPULAR DISCONTENT. SCENE OF THE LATERAN 

The situation of a Patrician who honestly loves the 
people is, in those evil times, when power oppresses 
and freedom struggles, — when the two divisions of 
men are wrestling against each other, — the most irk- 
some and perplexing that destiny can possibly con- 
trive. Shall he take part with the nobles ? — he betrays 
his conscience! With the people? — he deserts his 
friends ! But that consequence of the last alternative 
is not the sole — nor, perhaps to a strong mind, the 
most severe. All men are swayed and chained by 
public opinion — it is the public judge ; but public 
opinion is not the same for all ranks. The public 
opinion that excites or deters the plebeian, is the 
opinion of the plebeians, — of those whom he sees, and 
meets, and knows ; of those with whom he is brought 
in contact, — those with whom he has mixed from 
childhood, — those whose praises are daily heard, — 
whose censure frowns upon him with every hour.* 
So, also, the .public opinion of the great is the opinion 

*It is the same in still smaller divisions. The public opinion 
for lawyers is that of lawyers; of soldiers, that of the army; 
of scholars, it is that of men of literature and science. And 
to the susceptible amongst the latter, the hostile criticism of 
learning has been more stinging than the severest moral cen- 
sures of the vulgar. Many a man has done a great act, or 
composed a great work, solely to please the two or three per- 
sons constantly present to him. Their voice was his public 
opinion. The public opinion that operated on Bishop, the 
murderer, was the opinion of the Burkers, his comrades. 
Did that condemn him? No! He knew no other public 
opinion till he came to be hanged, and caught the loathing 
eyes, and heard the hissing execrations of the crowd below 
his gibbet. 


RIENZI 


136 

of their equals, — of those whom birth and accident cast 
for ever in their way. This distinction is full of 
important practical deductions ; it is one which, more 
than most maxims, should never be forgotten by a 
politician who desires to be profound. It is, then, an 
ordeal terrible to pass — which few plebeians ever pass, 
which it is therefore unjust to expect patricians to 
cross unfalteringly — the ordeal of opposing the pub- 
lic opinion which exists for them. They cannot help 
doubting their own judgment, — they cannot help 
thinking the voice of wisdom or of virtue speaks in 
those sounds which have been deemed oracles from 
their cradle. In the tribunal of Sectarian Prejudice 
they imagine they recognise the court of the Universal 
Conscience. Another powerful antidote to the ac- 
tivity of a patrician so placed, is in the certainty that 
to the last the motives of such activity will be alike 
misconstrued by the aristocracy he deserts and the 
people he joins. It seems so unnatural in a man to fly 
in the face of his own order, that the world is willing 
to suppose any clue to the mystery save that of honest 
conviction or lofty patriotism. “ Ambition ! ” says 
one. “ Disappointment! ” cries another. “ Some pri- 
vate grudge ! ” hints a third. “ Mob-courting van- 
ity ! ” sneers a fourth. The people admire at first, but 
suspect afterwards. The moment he thwarts a popular 
wish, there is no redemption for him: he is accused 
of having acted the hypocrite, — of having worn the 
sheep’s fleece : and now, say they, — “ See ! the wolfs 
teeth peep out ! ” Is he familiar with the people ? — it 
is cajolery! Is he distant? — it is pride! What then, 
sustains a man in such a situation, following his own 
conscience, with his eyes opened to all the perils of 
the path? Away with the cant of public opinion, — 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


137 


away with the poor delusion of posthumous justice ; 
he will offend the first, he will never obtain the last. 
What sustains him? His own soul! A man thor- 
oughly great has a certain' contempt for his kind while 
he aids them : their weal or woe are all : their applause 
— their blame — are nothing to him. He walks forth 
from the circle of birth and habit; he is deaf to the 
little motives of little men. High, through the widest 
space his orbit may describe, he holds on his course to 
guide or to enlighten ; but the noises below reach him 
not ! Until the wheel is broken, — until the dark void 
swallow up the star — it makes melody, night and day, 
to its own ear; thirsting for no sound from the earth 
it illumines, anxious for no companionship in the path 
through which it rolls, conscious of its own glory, and 
contented, therefore, to be alone! 

But minds of this order are rare. All ages cannot 
produce them. They are exceptions to the ordinary 
and human virtue, which is influenced and regulated 
by external circumstance. At a time when even to 
be merely susceptible to the voice of fame was a great 
pre-eminence in moral energies over the rest of man- 
kind, it would be impossible that any one should ever 
have formed the conception of that more refined and 
metaphysical sentiment, that purer excitement to high 
deeds — that glory in one’s own heart, which is so 
immeasurably above the desire of a renown that 
lackeys the heels of others. In fact, before we can 
dispense with the world, we must, by a long and severe 
novitiate — by the probation of much thought, and 
much sorrow — by deep and sad conviction of the 
vanity of all that the world can give us, have raised 
ourselves — not in the fervour of an hour, but habitu- 
ally — above the world : an abstraction — an idealism — 


138 


RIENZI 


which, in our wiser age, how few even of the wisest 
can attain! Yet, till we are thus fortunate, we know 
not the true divinity of contemplation, nor the all- 
sufficing mightiness of conscience : nor can we retreat 
with solemn footsteps into that Holy of Holies in our 
own souls, wherein we know, and feel, how much our 
nature is capable of the self-existence of a God ! 

But to return to the things and thoughts of earth. 
Those considerations, and those links of circumstance, 
which in a similar situation have changed so many 
honest and courageous minds, changed also the mind 
of Adrian. He felt in a false position. His reason 
and conscience shared in the schemes of Rienzi, and 
his natural hardihood and love of enterprise would 
have led him actively to share the danger of their 
execution. But this, all his associations, his friend- 
ships, his private and household ties, loudly forbade. 
Against his order, against his house, against the com- 
panions of his youth, how could he plot secretly, or act 
sternly? By the goal to which he was impelled by 
patriotism, stood hypocrisy and ingratitude. Who 
would believe him the honest champion of his country 
who was a traitor to his friends ? Thus, indeed, 

“ The native hue of resolution 
Was sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought! ” 

And he who should have been by nature a leader of 
the time become only its spectator. Yet Adrian 
endeavoured to console himself for his present passive- 
ness in a conviction of the policy of his conduct. He 
who takes no share in the commencement of civil rev- 
olutions, can often become, with the most effect, a 
mediator between the passions and the parties subse- 
quently formed. Perhaps, under Adrian’s circum- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 139 

stances, delay was really the part of a prudent states- 
man ; the very position which cripples at the first, often 
gives authority before the end. Clear from the ex- 
cesses, and saved from the jealousies, of rival factions, 
all men are willing to look with complaisance and 
respect to a new actor in a turbulent drama ; his mod- 
eration may make him trusted by the people ; his rank 
enable him to be a fitting mediator with the nobles ; 
and thus the qualities that would have rendered him 
a martyr at one period of the Revolution, raise him 
perhaps into a saviour at another. 

Silent, therefore, and passive, Adrian waited the 
progress of events. If the projects of Rienzi failed, 
he might, by that inactivity, the better preserve the 
people from new chains, and their champion from 
death. If those projects succeeded, he might equally 
save his house from the popular wrath — and, advo- 
cating liberty, check disorder. Such, at least, were 
his hopes ; and thus did the Italian sagacity and 
caution of his character control and pacify the enthu- 
siasm of youth and courage. 

The sun shone, calm and cloudless, upon the vast 
concourse gathered before the broad space that sur- 
rounds the Church of St. John of Lateran. Partly by 
curiosity — partly by the desire of the Bishop of Orvi- 
etto — partly because it was an occasion in which they 
could display the pomp of their retinues — many of the 
principal Barons of Rome had gathered to this spot. 

On one of the steps ascending to the church, with 
his mantle folded round him, stood Walter de Mon- 
treal, gazing on the various parties that, one after 
another, swept through the lane which the soldiers of 
the Church preserved unimpeded, in the middle of the 
crowd, for the access of the principal nobles. He 


140 


RIENZI 


watched with interest, though with his usual careless- 
ness of air and roving glance, the different marks and 
looks of welcome given by the populace to the differ- 
ent personages of note. Banners and pennons pre- 
ceded each Signor, and, as they waved aloft, the witti- 
cisms or nicknames — the brief words of praise or cen- 
sure, that imply so much — which passed to and fro 
among that lively crowd, were treasured carefully in 
his recollection. 

“ Make way, there ! — way for my Lord Martino 
Orsini — Baron di Porto ! ” 

“ Peace, minion ! — draw back ! way for the Signor 
Adrian Colonna, Baron di Castello, and Knight of the 
Empire.” 

And at those two rival shouts, you saw waving on 
high the golden bear of the Orsini, with the motto — 
“ Beware my embrace ! ” and the solitary column on 
an azure ground, of the Colonna, with Adrian’s es- 
pecial device — “ Sad, but strong.” The train of Mar- 
tino Orsini was much more numerous than that of 
Adrian, which last consisted but of ten servitors. But 
Adrian’s men attracted far greater admiration amongst 
the crowd, and pleased more the experienced eye of 
the warlike Knight of St. John. Their arms were 
polished like mirrors, their height was to an inch the 
same ; their march was regular and sedate ; their mien 
erect ; they looked neither to the right nor left ; they 
betrayed that ineffable discipline — that harmony of 
order — which Adrian had learned to impart to his men 
during his own apprenticeship of arms. But the dis- 
orderly train of the Lord of Porto was composed of 
men of all heights. Their arms were ill-polished and 
ill-fashioned, and they pressed confusedly on each 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 141 


other; they laughed and spoke aloud; and in their 
mien and bearing expressed all the insolence of men 
who despised alike the master they served and the 
people they awed. The two bands coming unex- 
pectedly on each other through this narrow defile, the 
jealousy of the two houses presently declared itself. 
Each pressed forward for the precedence; and, as the 
quiet regularity of Adrian’s train, and even its com- 
pact paucity of numbers, enabled it to pass before the 
servitors of his rival, the populace set up a loud 
shout, — “ A Colonna for ever ! ” — “ Let the Bear 
dance after the Column ! ” 

“ On, ye knaves ! ” said Orsini aloud to his men. 
“ How have ye suffered this affront ? ” And passing 
himself to the head of his men, he would have ad- 
vanced through the midst of his rival’s train, had not 
a tall guard, in the Pope’s livery, placed his baton in 
the way. 

“ Pardon, my Lord ! we have the Vicar’s express 
commands to suffer no struggling of the different 
trains one with another.” 

“ Knave ! dost thou bandy words with me ? ” said 
the fierce Orsini; and with his sword he clove the 
baton in two. 

“ In the Vicar’s name, I command you to fall 
back ! ” said the sturdy guard, now placing his huge 
bulk in the very front of the noble’s path. 

“ It is Cecco de Vecchio ! ” cried those of the popu- 
lace, who were near enough to perceive the inter- 
ruption and its cause. 

“ Ay,” said one, “the good Vicar has put many 
of the stoutest fellows in the Pope’s livery, in order 
the better to keep peace. He could have chosen none 
better than Cecco.” 


142 


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“ But he must not fall ! ” cried another, as Orsini, 
glaring on the smith, drew back his sword as if to 
plunge it through his bosom. 

“ Shame — shame ! shall the Pope be thus insulted 
in his own city?” cried several voices. “ Down with 
the sacrilegious — down ! ” And, as if by a precon- 
certed plan, a whole body of the mob broke at once 
through the lane, and swept like a torrent over 
Orsini and his jostled and ill-assorted train. Orsini 
himself was thrown on the ground with violence, 
and trampled upon by a hundred footsteps; his men, 
huddled and struggling as much against themselves 
as against the mob, were scattered and overset ; and 
when, by a great effort of the guards, headed by the 
smith himself, order was again restored, and the line 
reformed, Orsini, well-nigh choked with his rage and 
humiliation, and greatly bruised by the rude assaults 
he had received, could scarcely stir from the ground. 
The officers of the Pope raised him, and, when he 
was on his legs, he looked wildly around for his sword, 
which, falling from his hand, had been kicked amongst 
the crowd, and seeing it not, he said, between his 
ground teeth, to Cecco del Vecchio — 

“ Fellow, thy neck shall answer this outrage, or may 
God desert me ! ” and passed along through the space ; 
while a half-suppressed and exultant hoot from the 
bystanders followed his path. 

“ Way there ! ” cried the smith, “ for the Lord Mar- 
tino di Porto, and may all the people know that he 
has threatened to take my life for the discharge of 
my duty in obedience to the Pope’s Vicar ! ” 

He dare not ! ” shouted out a thousand voices ; 
“ the people can protect their own ! ” 

This scene had not been lost on the Provencal, who 


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143 


well knew how to construe the wind by the direction 
of straws, and saw at once, by the boldness of the pop- 
ulace, that they themselves were conscious of a coming 
tempest. “ Par Dieu,” said he, as he saluted Adrian, 
who, gravely, and without looking behind, had now 
won the steps of the church, “ yon tall fellow has a 
brave heart, and many friends, too. What think you,” 
he added, in a low whisper, '* is not this scene a proof 
that the nobles are less safe than they wot of ? ” 

“ The beast begins to kick against the spur, Sir 
Knight,” answered Adrian, “ a wise horseman should, 
in such a case, take care how he pull the rein too tight, 
lest the beast should rear, and he be overthrown — yet 
that is the policy thou wouldst recommend.” 

“ You mistake,” returned Montreal, “ my wish was 
to give Rome one sovereign instead of many tyrants, — 
but hark ! what means that bell ? ” 

“ The ceremony is about to begin,” answered 
Adrian. “ Shall we enter the church together? ” 
Seldom had a temple consecrated to God witnessed 
so singular a spectacle as that which now animated 
the solemn space of the Lateran. 

In the centre of the church, seats were raised in an 
amphitheatre, at the far end of which was a scaffold- 
ing, a little higher than the rest ; below this spot, but 
high enough to be in sight of all the concourse, was 
placed a vast table of iron, on which was graven an 
ancient inscription, and bearing in its centre a clear 
and prominent device, presently to be explained. 

The seats were covered with cloth and rich tapestry. 
In the rear of the church was drawn a purple curtain. 
Around the amphitheatre were the officers of the 
Church, in the party-coloured liveries of the Pope. 
To the right of the scaffold sate Raimond, Bishop of 


144 


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Orvietto, in his robes of state. On the benches round 
him you saw all the marked personages of Rome — 
the judges, the men of letters, the nobles, from the 
lofty rank of the Savelli to the inferior grade of a 
Raselli. The space beyond the amphitheatre was 
filled with the people, who now poured fast in, stream 
after stream : all the while rang, clear and loud, the 
great bell of the church. 

At length, as Adrian and Montreal seated them- 
selves at a little distance from Raimond, the bell sud- 
denly ceased — the murmurs of the people were stilled 
— the purple curtain was withdrawn, and Rienzi came 
forth with slow and majestic steps. He came — but 
not in his usual sombre and plain attire. Over his 
broad breast he wore a vest of dazzling whiteness — a 
long robe, in the ample fashion of the toga, descended 
to his feet and swept the floor. On his head he wore 
a fold of white cloth, in the centre of which shone a 
golden crown. But the crown was divided, or cloven, 
as it were, by the mystic ornament of a silver sword, 
which, attracting the universal attention, testified at 
once that this strange garb was worn, not from the 
vanity of display, but for the sake of presenting to the 
concourse — in the person of the citizen — a type and 
emblem of that state of the city on which he was about 
to descant. 

“ Faith,” whispered one of the old nobles to his 
neighbour, “ the plebeian assumes it bravely.” 

“ It will be rare sport,” said a second. “ I trust the 
good man will put some jests in his discourse.” 

“ What showman’s tricks are these ? ” said a third. 

“ He is certainly crazed ! ” said a fourth. 

“ How handsome he is ! ” said the women, mixed 
with the populace. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 145 

“ This is a man who has learned the people by 
heart,” observed Montreal to Adrian. “ He knows he 
must speak to the eye, in order to win the mind : a 
knave, — a wise knave ! ” 

And now Rienzi had ascended the scaffold; and as 
he looked long and steadfastly around the meeting, 
the high and thoughtful repose of his majestic coun- 
tenance, its deep and solemn gravity, hushed all the 
murmurs, and made its effect equally felt by the sneer- 
ing nobles as the impatient populace. 

“ Signors of Rome,” said he, at length, “ and ye, 
friends, and citizens, you have heard why we are met 
together this day; and you, my Lord Bishop of Or- 
vietto, — and ye, fellow labourers with me in the field of 
letters, — ye, too, are aware that it is upon some mat- 
ter relative to that ancient Rome, the rise and the de- 
cline of whose past power and glories we have spent 
our youth in endeavouring to comprehend. But this, 
believe me, is no vain enigma of erudition, useful but 
to the studious, — referring but to the dead. Let the 
Past perish ! — let darkness shroud it ! — let it sleep for 
ever over the crumbling temples and desolate tombs of 
its forgotten sons, — if it cannot afford us, from its dis- 
buried secrets, a guide for the Present and the Future. 
What, my Lords, ye have thought that it was for the 
sake of antiquity alone that we have wasted our nights 
and days in studying what antiquity can teach us ! 
You are mistaken ; it is nothing to know what we have 
been, unless it is with the desire of knowing that which 
we ought to be. Our ancestors are mere dust and 
ashes, save when they speak to our posterity ; and then 
their voices resound, not from the earth below, but 
the heaven above. There is an eloquence in Mem- 
ory, because it is the nurse of Hope. There is a 


10 


46 


RIENZI 


sanctity in the Past, but only because of the chron- 
icles it retains, — chronicles of the progress of man- 
kind, — stepping-stones in civilisation, in liberty, and 
in knowledge. Our fathers forbid us to recede, 
— they teach us what is our rightful heritage, — 
they bid us reclaim, they bid us augment, that 
heritage, — preserve their virtues, and avoid their er- 
rors. These are the true uses of the Past. Like the 
sacred edifice in which we are, — it is a tomb upon 
which to rear a temple. I see that you marvel at this 
long beginning; ye look to each other — ye ask to 
what it tends. Behold this broad plate of iron ; upon 
it is graven an inscription but lately disinterred from 
the heaps of stone and ruin, which — O shame to 
Rome ! — were once the palaces of empire, and the 
arches of triumphant power. The device in the centre 
of the table, which you behold, conveys the act of the 
Roman Senators, — who are conferring upon Vespa- 
sian the imperial authority. It is this inscription 
which I have invited you to hear read ! It specifies 
the very terms and limits of the authority thus con- 
ferred. To the Emperor was confided the power of 
making laws and alliances with whatsoever nation, — 
of increasing, or of diminishing the limits of towns 
and districts, — of — mark this, my Lords ! — exalting 
men to the rank of dukes and kings, — ay, and of de- 
posing and degrading them : — of making cities, and 
of unmaking : in short, of all the attributes of imperial 
power. Yes, to that Emperor was confided this vast 
authority; but, by whom? Heed — listen, I pray you 
— let not a word be lost; — by whom, I say? By the 
Roman Senate ! What was the Roman Senate ? The 
Representative of the Roman People ! ” 

“ I knew he would come to that ! ” said the smith, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 14/ 

who stood at the door with his fellows, but to whose 
ear, clear and distinct, rolled the silver voice of Rienzi. 

“ Brave fellow ! and this, too, in the hearing of the 
Lords ! ” 

“ Ay, you see what the people were, and we should 
never have known this but for him.” 

“ Peace, fellows ! ” said the officer to those of the 
crowd, from whom came these whispered sentences. 

Rienzi continued. — “ Yes, it is the people who in- 
trusted this power — to the people, therefore, it be- 
longs ! Did the haughty Emperor arrogate the 
crown? Could he assume the authority of himself? 
Was it born with him? Did he derive it, my Lord 
Barons, from the possession of towered castles — of 
lofty lineage? No! all-powerful as he was, he had no 
right to one atom of that power, save from the voice 
and trust of the Roman people. Such, O my country- 
men ! such was even at that day, when Liberty was 
but the shadow of her former self, — such was the 
acknowledged prerogative of your fathers ! All power 
was the gift of the people. What have ye to give 
now? Who, who, I say, — what single person, what 
petty chief, asks you for the authority he assumes? 
His senate is his sword ; his chart of licence is writ- 
ten, not with ink, but blood. The people! — there is 
no people! Oh! would to God that we might disen- 
tomb the spirit of the Past as easily as her records ! ” 

“ If I were your kinsman,” whispered Montreal to 
Adrian, “ I would give this man short breathing-time 
between his peroration and confession.” 

“What is your Emperor?” continued Rienzi; “a 
stranger ! What the great head of your Church ? — an 
exile! Ye are without your lawful chiefs; and why? 
Because ye are not without your law-defying tyrants ! 


148 


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The licence of your nobles, their discords, their dissen- 
sions, have driven our Holy Father from the heritage 
of St. Peter; — they have bathed your streets in your 
own blood ; they have wasted the wealth of your 
labours on private quarrels and the maintenance of 
hireling ruffians! Your forces are exhausted against 
yourselves. You have made a mockery of your coun- 
try, once the mistress of the world. You have steeped 
her lips in gall — ye have set a crown of thorns upon 
her head ! What, my Lords ! ” cried he, turning 
sharply round towards the Savelli and Orsini, who, 
endeavouring to shake off the thrill which the fiery 
eloquence of Rienzi had stricken to their hearts, now, 
by contemptuous gestures and scornful smiles, testi- 
fied the displeasure they did not dare loudly to utter in 
the presence of the Vicar and the people. — “ What ! 
even while I speak — not the sanctity of this place re~ 
strains you ! I am an humble man — a citizen of 
Rome ; — but I have this distinction : I have raised 
against myself many foes and scoffers for that which 
I have done for Rome. I am hated, because I love 
my country ; I am despised, because I would exalt her. 
I retaliate — I shall be avenged. Three traitors in 
your own palaces shall betray you : their names are — 
Luxury, Envy, and Dissension ! ” 

“ There he had them on the hip ! ” 

“ Ha, ha ! by the Holy Cross, that was good ! ” 

“ I would go to the hangman for such another keen 
stroke as that ! ” 

“ It is a shame if we are cowards, when one man is 
thus brave,” said the smith. 

“ This is the man we have always wanted ! ” 

“ Silence ! ” proclaimed the officer. 

“ O Romans ! ” resumed Rienzi, passionately — 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


149 


“ awake ! I conjure you ! Let this memorial of your 
former power — your ancient liberties — sink deep into 
your souls. In a propitious hour, if ye seize it, — in an 
evil one, if ye suffer the golden opportunity to escape, 
— has this record of the past been unfolded to your 
eyes. Recollect that the Jubilee approaches.” 

The Bishop of Orvietto smiled, and bowed approv- 
ingly ; the people, the citizens, the inferior nobles, 
noted well those signs of encouragement ; and, to their 
minds, the Pope himself, in the person of his Vicar, 
looked benignly on the daring of Rienzi. 

“ The jubilee approaches, — the eyes of all Christen- 
dom will be directed hither. Here, where, from all 
quarters of the globe, men come for peace, shall they 
find discord? — seeking absolution, shall they perceive 
but crime? In the centre of God’s dominion, shall 
they weep at your weakness ? — in the seat of the mar- 
tyred saints, shall they shudder at your vices ? — in the 
fountain and source of Christ’s law, shall they find all 
law unknown? You were the glory of the world — 
will you be its by-word? You were its example — will 
you be its warning? Rise, while it is yet time ! — clear 
your roads from the bandits that infest them ! — your 
walls from the hirelings that they harbour! Banish 
these civil discords, or the men — how proud, how 1 
great, soever — who maintain them ! Pluck the scales 
from the hand of Fraud ! — the sword from the hand 
of Violence ! — the balance and the sword are the 
ancient attributes of Justice ! — restore them to her 
again ! This be your high task, — these be your great 
ends ! Deem any man who opposes them a traitor 
to his country. Gain a victory greater than those of 
the Caesars — a victory over yourselves ! Let the pil- 
grims of the world behold the resurrection of Rome! 


RIENZI 


150 

Make one epoch of the Jubilee of Religion and the 
Restoration of Law ! Lay the sacrifice of your van- 
quished passions — the first-fruits of your renovated 
liberties — upon the very altar that these walls contain ! 
and never ! oh, never ! since the world began, shall 
men have made a more grateful offering to their 
God ! ” 

So intense was the sensation these words created in 
the audience — so breathless and overpowered did they 
leave the souls which they took by storm — that Rienzi 
had descended the scaffold, and already disappeared 
behind the curtain from which he had emerged, ere 
the crowd were fully aware that he had ceased. 

The singularity of this sudden apparition — robed in 
mysterious splendour, and vanishing the moment its 
errand was fulfilled — gave additional effect to the words 
it had uttered. The whole character of that bold ad- 
dress became invested with a something preternatural 
and inspired; to the minds of the vulgar, the mortal 
was converted into the oracle ; and, marvelling at the 
unhesitating courage with which their idol had re- 
buked and conjured the haughty barons, — each of 
whom they regarded in the light of sanctioned execu- 
tioners, whose anger could be made manifest at once 
by the gibbet or the axe, — the people could not but 
superstitiously imagine that nothing less than author- 
ity from above could have gifted their leader with such 
hardihood, and preserved him from the danger it in- 
curred. In fact, it was in this very courage of Rienzi 
that his safety consisted ; he was placed in those cir- 
cumstances where audacity is prudence. Had he been 
less bold, the nobles would have been more severe; 
but so great a licence of speech in an officer of the 
Holy See, they naturally imagined, was not unauthor- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 15 1 

ised by the assent of the Pope, as well as by the appro- 
bation of the people. Those who did not (like Ste- 
phen Colonna) despise words as wind, shrank back from 
the task of punishing one whose voice might be the 
mere echo of the wishes of the pontiff. The dissen- 
sions of the nobles among each other, were no less 
favourable to Rienzi. He attacked a body, the mem- 
bers of which had no union. 

“ It is not my duty to slay him ! ” said one. 

“ I am not the representative of the barons ! ” said 
another. 

“ If Stephen Colonna heeds him not, it would be 
absurd, as well as dangerous, in a meaner man to 
make himself the champion of the order ! ” said a third. 

The Colonna smiled approval, when Rienzi de- 
nounced an Orsini — an Orsini laughed aloud, when 
the eloquence burst over a Colonna. The lesser 
nobles were well pleased to hear attacks upon both : 
while, on the other hand, the Bishop, by the long im- 
punity of Rienzi, had taken courage to sanction the 
conduct of his fellow-officer. He affected, indeed, at 
times, to blame the excess of his fervour, but it was 
always accompanied by the praises of his honesty ; 
and the approbation of the Pope’s Vicar confirmed 
the impression of the nobles as to the approbation of 
the Pope. Thus, from the very rashness of his enthu- 
siasm had grown his security and success. 

Still, however, when the barons had a little recov- 
ered from the stupor into which Rienzi had cast them, 
they looked round to each other; and their looks con- 
fessed their sense of the insolence of the orator, and 
the affront offered to themselves. 

“ Per fede! ” quoth Reginaldo di Orsini, “ this is 
past bearing, — the plebeian has gone too far ! ” 


52 


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“ Look at the populace below ! how they murmur 
and gape, — and how their eyes sparkle — and what 
looks they bend at us ! ” said Luca di Savelli to his 
mortal enemy, Castruccio Malatesta : the sense of a 
common danger united in one moment, but only for 
a moment, the enmity of years. 

“Diavolo!” muttered Raselli (Nina’s father) to a 
baron, equally poor, “ but the clerk has truth in his 
lips. ’Tis a pity he is not noble.” 

“ What a clever brain marred ! ” said a Florentine 
merchant. “ That man might be something, if he 
were sufficiently rich.” 

Adrian and Montreal were silent : the first seemed 
lost in thought, — the last was watching the various 
effects produced upon the audience. 

“ Silence ! ” proclaimed the officers. “ Silence, for 
my Lord Vicar.” 

At this announcement, every eye turned to Rai- 
mond, who, rising with much clerical importance, thus 
addressed the assembly : — 

“ Although, Barons and Citizens of Rome, my well- 
beloved flock, and children, — I, no more than, your- 
selves, anticipated the exact nature of the address ye 
have just heard, — and, albeit, I cannot feel unalloyed 
contentment at the manner, nor, I may say, at the 
whole matter of that fervent exhortation — yet ” (laying 
great emphasis on the last word), “ I cannot suffer you 
to depart without adding to the prayers of our Holy 
Father’s servant, those, also, of his Holiness’s spir- 
itual representative. It is true ! the Jubilee ap- 
proaches ! The Jubilee approaches — and yet our 
roads, even to the gates of Rome, are infested with 
murderous and godless ruffians ! What pilgrim can 
venture across the Apennines to worship at the altars 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 153 


of St. Peter? The Jubilee approaches: what scandal 
shall it be to Rome if these shrines be without pil- 
grims — if the timid recoil from, if the bold fall victims 
to, the dangers of the way! Wherefore, I pray you 
all, citizens and chiefs alike, — I pray you all to lay 
aside those unhappy dissensions which have so long 
consumed the strength of our sacred city ; and, uniting 
with each other in the ties of amity and brotherhood, 
to form a blessed league against the marauders of the 
road. I see amongst you, my Lords, many of the 
boasts and pillars of the state ; but, alas ! I think with 
grief and dismay on the causeless and idle hatred that 
has grown up between you ! — a scandal to our city, 
and reflecting, let me add, my Lords, no honour on 
your faith as Christians, nor on your dignity as de- 
fenders of the Church.” 

Amongst the inferior nobles — along the seats of the 
judges and the men of letters — through the vast con- 
course of the people — ran a loud murmur of approba- 
tion at these words. The greater barons looked 
proudly, but not contemptuously, at the countenance 
of the prelate, and preserved a strict and unrevealing 
silence. , 

“ In this holy spot/’ continued the Bishop, “ let me 
beseech you to bury those fruitless animosities which 
have already cost enough of blood and treasure ; and 
let us quit these walls with one common determination 
to evince our courage and display our chivalry only 
against our universal foes; — those ruffians who lay 
waste our fields, and infest our public ways, — the foes 
alike of the people we should protect, and the God 
whom we should serve ! ” 

The Bishop resumed his seat ; the nobles looked at 
each other without reply ; the people began to whisper 


i54 


RIENZI 


loudly amongst themselves ; when, after a short pause, 
Adrian di Castello rose. 

“ Pardon me, my Lords, and you, reverend Father, 
if I, inexperienced in years and of little mark or dig- 
nity amongst you, presume to be the first to embrace 
the proposal we have just heard. Willingly do I re- 
nounce all ancient cause of enmity with any of my 
compeers. Fortunately for me, my long absence from 
Rome has swept from my remembrance the feuds and 
rivalries familiar to my early youth ; and in this noble 
conclave I see but one man ” (glancing at Martino di 
Porto, who sat sullenly looking down) “ against whom 
I have, at any time, deemed it a duty to draw my 
sword; the gage that I once cast to that noble is 
yet, I rejoice to think, unredeemed. I withdraw it. 
Ftenceforth my only foes shall be the foes of Rome ! ” 

“ Nobly spoken ! ” said the Bishop, aloud. 

“ And,” continued Adrian, casting down his glove 
amongst the nobles, “ I throw, my Lords, the gage, 
thus resumed, amongst you all, in challenge to a wider 
rivalry, and a more noble field. I invite any man to 
vie with me in the zeal that he shall show to restore 
tranquillity to our roads, and order to our state. It 
is a contest in which, if I be vanquished with reluc- 
tance, I will yield the prize without envy. In ten days 
from this time, reverend Father, I will raise forty horse- 
men-at-arms, ready to obey whatever orders shall be 
agreed upon for the security of the Roman state. And 
you, O Romans, dismiss, I pray you, from your minds, 
those eloquent invectives against your fellow-citizens 
which ye have lately heard. All of us, of what rank 
soever, may have shared in the excesses of these un- 
happy times ; let us endeavour, not to avenge nor to 
imitate, but to reform and to unite. And may the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 155 

people hereafter find, that the true boast of a patrician 
is, that his power the better enables him to serve his 
country.” 

“ Brave words ! ” quoth the smith, sneeringly. 

“ If they were ali like him ! ” said the smith’s neigh- 
bour. 

“ He has helped the nobles out of a dilemma,” said 
Pandulfo. 

“ He has shown gray wit under young hairs,” said 
an aged Malatesta. 

“ You have turned the tide, but not stemmed it, 
noble Adrian,” whispered the ever-boding Montreal, 
as, amidst the murmurs of the general approbation, the 
young Colonna resumed his seat. 

“ How mean you ? ” said Adrian. 

“ That your soft words, like all patrician concilia- 
tions, have come too late.” 

Not another noble stirred, though they felt, perhaps, 
disposed to join in the general feeling of amnesty, 
and appeared, by signs and whispers, to applaud the 
speech of Adrian. They were too habituated to the 
ungracefulness of an unlettered pride, to bow them- 
selves to address conciliating language either to the 
people or their foes. And Raimond, glancing round, 
and not willing that their unseemly silence should be 
long remarked, rose at once, to give it the best con- 
struction in his power. 

“ My son, thou hast spoken as a patriot and a 
Christian ; by the approving silence of your peers we 
all feel that they share your sentiments. Break we 
up the meeting — its end is obtained. The manner of 
our proceeding against the leagued robbers of the road 
requires maturer consideration elsewhere. This day 
shall be an epoch in our history.” 


156 


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“ It shall,” quoth Cecco del Vecchio, gruffly, be- 
tween his teeth. 

“ Children, my blessing upon you all ! ” concluded 
the Vicar, spreading his arms. 

And in a few minutes more the crowd poured from 
the church. The different servitors and flag-bearers 
ranged themselves on the steps without, each train 
anxious for their master’s precedence ; and the nobles, 
gravely collecting in small knots, in the which was 
no mixture of rival blood, followed the crowd down 
the aisles. Soon rose again the din, and the noise, and 
the wrangling, and the oaths, of the hostile bands, as, 
with pain and labour, the Vicar’s officers marshalled 
them in “ order most disorderly.” 

But so true were Montreal’s words to Adrian, that 
the populace already half forgot the young noble’s 
generous appeal, and were only bitterly commenting 
on the ungracious silence of his brother Lords. What, 
too, to them was this crusade against the robbers of 
the road? They blamed the good Bishop for not say- 
ing boldly to the nobles — “ Ye are the first robbers 
we must march against ! ” The popular discontents 
had gone far beyond palliatives ; they had arrived at 
that point when the people longed less for reform than 
change. There are times when a revolution cannot be 
warded off ; it must come — come alike by resistance or 
by concession. Woe to that race in which a revolu- 
tion produces no fruits! — in which the thunderbolt 
smites the high place, but does not purify the air ! To 
suffer in vain is often the lot of the noblest individuals ; 
but when a People suffer in vain, let them curse them- 
selves ! 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


5 7 


CHAPTER IV 

THE AMBITIOUS CITIZEN, AND THE AMBITIOUS SOLDIER 

The Bishop of Orvietto lingered last, to confer with 
Rienzi, who awaited him in the recesses of the Lat- 
eran. Raimond had the penetration not to be se- 
duced into believing that the late scene could effect 
any reformation amongst the nobles, heal their divi- 
sions, or lead them actively against the infestors of the 
Campagna. But, as he detailed to Rienzi all that had 
occurred subsequent to the departure of that hero of 
the scene, he concluded with saying : — 

“ You will perceive from this, one good result will 
be produced : the first armed dissension — the first fray 
among the nobles — will seem like a breach of promise ; 
and, to the people and to the Pope, a reasonable ex- 
cuse for despairing of all amendment amongst the 
Barons, — an excuse which will sanction the efforts of 
the first, and the approval of the last.” 

“ For such a fray we shall not long wait,” answered 
Rienzi. 

“ I believe the prophecy,” answered Raimond, smil- 
ing ; “ at present all runs well. Go you with us home- 
ward ? ” 

“ Nay, I think it better to tarry here till the crowd 
is entirely dispersed ; for if they were to see me, in 
their present excitement, they might insist on some 
rash and hasty enterprise. Besides, my Lord,” added 
Rienzi, “ with an ignorant people, however honest and 
enthusiastic, this rule must be rigidly observed — stale 
not your presence by custom. Never may men like 
me, who have no external rank, appear amongst the 


i 5 8 


RIENZI 


crowd, save on those occasions when the mind is itself 
a rank.” 

“ That is true, as you have no train,” answered 
Raimond, thinking of his own well-liveried menials. 
“ Adieu, then ! we shall meet soon.” 

“ Ay, at Philippi, my Lord. Reverend Father, your 
blessing ! ” 

It was some time subsequent to this conference that 
Rienzi quitted the sacred edifice. As he stood on the 
steps of the church — now silent and deserted — the 
hour that precedes the brief twilight of the South lent 
its magic to the view. There he beheld the sweeping 
arches of the mighty Aqueduct extending far along 
the scene, and backed by the distant and purpled hills. 
Before — to the right — rose the gate which took its 
Roman name from the Coelian Mount, at whose de- 
clivity it yet stands. Beyond — from the height of the 
steps — he saw the villages scattered through the gray 
Campagna, whitening in the sloped sun; and in the 
furthest distance the mountain shadows began to 
darken over the roofs of the ancient Tusculum, and 
the second Alban * city, which yet rises, in desolate 
neglect, above the vanished palaces of Pompey and 
Domitian. 

The Roman stood absorbed and motionless fox*. some 
moments, gazing on the scene, and inhaling the sweet 
balm of the mellow air. It was the soft spring-time — 
the season of flowers, and green leaves, and whispering 
winds — the pastoral May of Italia’s poets : but hushed 
was the voice of song on the banks of the Tiber — the 
reeds gave music no more. From the sacred Mount 

* The first Alba — the Alba Longa — whose origin Fable 
ascribes to Ascanius, was destroyed by Tullus Hostilius. The 
second Alba, or modern Albano, was erected on the plain be- 
low the ancient town, a little before the time of Nero. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 159 

in which Saturn held his home, the Dryad and the 
Nymph, and Italy’s native Sylvan, were gone for ever. 
Rienzi’s original nature — its enthusiasm — its venera- 
tion for the past — its love of the beautiful and the 
great — that very attachment to the graces and pomp 
which give so florid a character to the harsh realities 
of life, and which power afterwards too luxuriantly 
developed ; the exuberance of thoughts and fancies, 
which poured itself from his lips in so brilliant and 
inexhaustible a flood — all bespoke those intellectual 
and imaginative biasses, which, in calmer times, might 
have raised him in literature to a more indisputable 
eminence than that to which action can ever lead ; and 
something of such consciousness crossed his spirit at 
that moment. 

“ Happier had it been for me,” thought he, “ had I 
never looked out from my own heart upon the world. 
I had all within me that makes contentment of the 
present, because I had that which can make me forget 
the present. I had the power to re-people — to create : 
the legends and dreams of old — the divine faculty of 
verse, in which the beautiful superfluities of the heart 
can pour themselves — these were mine ! Petrarch 
chose wisely for himself! To address the world, but 
from without the world; to persuade — to excite — to 
command, — for these are the aim and glory of am- 
bition ; — but to shun its tumult, and its toil ! His the 
quiet cell which he fills with the shapes of beauty — 
the solitude, from which he can banish the evil times 
whereon we are fallen, but in which he can dream 
back the great hearts and the glorious epochs of the 
past. For me — to what cares I am wedded! to what 
labours I am bound ! what instruments I must use ! 
what disguises I must assume! to tricks and artifice 


i6o 


RIENZI 


I must bow my pride ! base are my enemies — uncertain 
my friends! and verily, in this struggle with blinded 
and mean men, the soul itself becomes warped and 
dwarfish. Patient and darkling, the Means creep 
through caves and the soiling mire, to gain at last the 
light which is the End.” 

In these reflections there was a truth, the whole 
gloom and sadness of which the Roman had not yet 
experienced. However august be the object we pro- 
pose to ourselves, every less worthy path we take to 
insure it distorts the mental sight of our ambition ; 
and the means, by degrees, abase the end to their own 
standard. This is the true misfortune of a man nobler 
than his age — that the instruments he must use soil 
himself : half he reforms his times ; but half, too, the 
times will corrupt the reformer. His own craft under- 
mines his safety ; — the people, whom he himself accus- 
toms to a false excitement, perpetually crave it ; and 
when their ruler ceases to seduce their fancy, he falls 
their victim. The reform he makes by these means is 
hollow and momentary — it is swept away with himself : 
it was but the trick — the show — the wasted genius of 
a conjuror: the curtain falls — the magic is over — the 
cup and balls are kicked aside. Better one slow step 
in enlightenment, — which being made by the reason 
of a whole people, cannot recede, — than these sudden 
flashes in the depth of the general night, which the 
darkness, by contrast doubly dark, swallows up ever- 
lastingly again ! 

As, slowly and musingly, Rienzi turned to quit the 
church, he felt a light touch upon his shoulder. 

“ Fair evening to you, Sir Scholar,” said a frank 
voice. 

“To you, I return the courtesy,” answered Rienzi, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 161 


gazing upon the person who thus suddenly accosted 
him, and in whose white cross and martial bearing the 
reader recognises the Knight of St. John. 

“ You know me not, I think? ” said Montreal ; “ but 
that matters little, we may easily commence our ac- 
quaintance : for me, indeed, I am fortunate enough to 
have made myself already acquainted with you.” 

“ Possibly we have met elsewhere, at the house of 
one of those nobles to whose rank you seem to be- 
long?” 

“ Belong ! no, not exactly ! ” returned Montreal, 
proudly. “ High-born and great as your magnates 
deem themselves, I would not, while the mountains 
can yield one free spot for my footstep, change my 
place in the world’s many grades for theirs. To the 
brave, there is but one sort of plebeian, and that is 
the coward. But you, sage Rienzi,” continued the 
Knight, in a gayer tone, “ I have seen in more stirring 
scenes than the hall of a Roman Baron.” 

Rienzi glanced keenly at Montreal, who met his eye 
with an open brow. 

“ Yes ! ” resumed the Knight — “ but let us walk on ; 
suffer me for a few moments to be your companion. 
Yes! I have listened to you — the other eve, when 
you addressed the populace, and to-day, when you 
rebuked the nobles ; and at midnight, too, not long 
since, when (your ear, fair Sir ! — lower, it is a secret !) 
— at midnight, too, when you administered the oath of 
brotherhood to the bold conspirators, on the ruined 
Aventine ! ” 

As he concluded, the Knight drew himself aside to 
watch, upon Rienzi’s countenance, the effect which his 
words might produce. 

A slight tremor passed over the frame of the con- 


ii 


RIENZI 


162 

spirator — for so, unless the conspiracy succeed, would 
Rienzi be termed, by others than Montreal : he turned 
abruptly round to confront the Knight, and placed his 
hand involuntarily on his sword, but presently relin- 
quished the grasp. 

“ Ha ! ” said the Roman, slowly, “ if this be true, 
fall Rome ! There is treason even among the free ! ” 

“No treason, brave Sir!” answered Montreal; “I 
possess thy secret — but none have betrayed it to 
me.” 

“ And is it as friend or foe that thou hast learned 
it?” 

“ That as it may be,” returned Montreal, carelessly. 
“ Enough, at present, that I could send thee to the 
gibbet, if I said but a word, — to show my power to 
be thy foe : enough, that I have not done it, to prove 
my disposition to be thy friend.” 

“ Thou mistakest, stranger ! that man does not live 
who could shed my blood in the streets of Rome ! 
The gibbet! Little dost thou know of the power 
which surrounds Rienzi.” 

These words were said with some scorn and bitter- 
ness; but, after a moment’s pause, Rienzi resumed, 
more calmly : — 

“ By the cross on thy mantle, thou belongest to one 
of the proudest orders of knighthood : thou art a for- 
eigner, and a cavalier. What generous sympathies 
can convert thee into a friend of the Roman people ? ” 

“ Cola di Rienzi,” returned Montreal, “ the sym- 
pathies that unite us are those which unite all men 
who, by their own efforts, rise above the herd. True, 
I was born noble — but powerless and poor : at my beck 
now move, from city to city, the armed instruments of 
authority : my breath is the law of thousands. This 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 163 

empire I have not inherited ; I won it by a cool brain 
and a fearless arm. Know me for Walter de Mon- 
treal ; is it not a name that speaks a spirit kindred to 
thine own ? Is not ambition a common sentiment be- 
tween us ? I do not marshal soldiers for gain only, 
though men have termed me avaricious — nor butcher 
peasants for the love of blood, though men have called 
me cruel. Arms and wealth are the sinews of power; 
it is power that I desire ; — thou, bold Rienzi, strug- 
glest thou not for the same ? Is it the rank breath of 
the garlic-chewing mob — is it the whispered envy of 
schoolmen — is it the hollow mouthing of boys who 
call thee patriot and freeman, words to trick the ear — 
that will content thee? These are but thy instruments 
to pozver. Have I spoken truly ? ” 

Whatever distaste Rienzi might conceive at this 
speech he masked effectually. “ Certes,” said he, “ it 
would be in vain, renowned Captain, to deny that I 
seek but that power of which thou speakest. But 
what, union can there be between the ambition of a 
Roman citizen and the leader of paid armies that take 
their cause only according to their hire — to-day, fight 
for liberty in Florence — to-morrow, for tyranny in 
Bologna? Pardon my frankness; for in this age that 
is deemed no disgrace which I impute to thy armies. 
Valour and generalship are held to consecrate any 
cause they distinguish ; and he who is the master 
of princes, may be well honoured by them as their 
equal.” 

“ We are entering into a less deserted quarter of the 
town,” said the Knight ; “ is there no secret place 
— no Aventine — in this direction, where we can con- 
fer?” 

“ Hush ! ” replied Rienzi, cautiously looking round. 


RIENZI 


164 

“ I thank thee, noble Montreal, for the hint ; nor may 
it be well for us to be seen together. Wilt thou deign 
to follow me to my home, by the Palatine Bridge ? * 
there we can converse undisturbed and secure.” 

“ Be it so,” said Montreal, falling back. 

With a quick and hurried step, Rienzi passed 
through the town, in which, wherever he was discov- 
ered, the scattered citizens saluted him with marked 
respect; and, turning through a labyrinth of dark 
alleys, as if to shun the more public thoroughfares, 
arrived at length at a broad space near the river. The 
first stars of night shone down on the ancient temple 
of Fortuna Virilis, which the chances of Time had 
already converted into the Church of St. Mary of 
Egypt ; and facing the twice-hallowed edifice stood the 
house of Rienzi. 

“ It is a fair omen to have my mansion facing the 
ancient Temple of Fortune,” said Rienzi, smiling, as 
Montreal followed the Roman into the chamber I have 
already described. 

“ Yet Valour need never pray to Fortune,” said the 
Knight ; “ the first commands the last.” 

Long was the conference between these two men, 
the most enterprising of their age. Meanwhile, let 
me make the reader somewhat better acquainted with 
the character and designs of Montreal, than the hurry 
of events has yet permitted him to become. 

Walter de Montreal, generally known in the chron- 
icles of Italy by the designation of Fra Moreale, had 

* The picturesque ruins shown at this day as having once 
been the habitation of the celebrated Cola di Rienzi, were 
long asserted by the antiquarians to have belonged to another 
Cola or Nicola. I believe, however, that the dispute has been 
lately decided: and, indeed, no one but an antiquary, and that 
a Roman one, could suppose that there were two Colas to 
whom the inscription on the house would apply. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 165 

passed into Italy — a bold adventurer, worthy to be- 
come a successor of those roving Normans (from one 
of the most eminent of whom, by the mother’s side, 
he claimed descent) who had formerly played so 
strange a part in the chivalric errantry of Europe, — 
realising the fables of Amadis and Palmerin — (each 
knight, in himself a host), winning territories and over- 
setting thrones ; acknowledging no laws save those of 
knighthood ; never confounding themselves with the 
tribe amongst which they settled ; incapable of becom- 
ing citizens, and scarcely contented with aspiring to 
be kings. At that time, Italy was the India of all 
those well-born and penniless adventurers who, like 
Montreal, had inflamed their imagination by the bal- 
lads and legends of the Roberts and the Godfreys of 
old ; who had trained themselves from youth to man- 
age the barb, and bear, through the heats of summer, 
the weight of arms ; and who, passing into an effem- 
inate and distracted land, had only to exhibit bravery 
in order to command wealth. It was considered no 
disgrace for some powerful chieftain to collect to- 
gether a band of these hardy aliens, — to subsist 
amidst the mountains on booty and pillage, — to make 
war upon tyrant or republic, as interest suggested, 
and to sell, at enormous stipends, the immunities of 
peace. Sometimes they hired themselves to one state 
to protect it against the other; and the next year be- 
held them in the field against their former employers. 
These bands of Northern stipendiaries assumed, there- 
fore, a civil, as well as a military, importance ; they 
were as indispensable to the safety of one state as they 
were destructive to the security of all. But five years 
before the present date, the Florentine Republic had 
hired the services of a celebrated leader of these 


RIENZI 


1 66 

foreign soldiers, — Gualtier, Duke of Athens. By ac- 
clamation, the people themselves had elected that war- 
rior to the state of prince, or tyrant, of their state ; 
before the year was completed, they revolted against 
his cruelties, or rather against his exactions, — for, 
despite all the boasts of their historians, they felt an 
attack on their purses more deeply than an assault on 
their liberties, — they had chased him from their city, 
and once more proclaimed themselves a Republic. 
The bravest, and most favoured of the soldiers of the 
Duke of Athens had been Walter de Montreal ; he 
had shared the rise and the downfall of his chief. 
Amongst popular commotions, the acute and ob- 
servant mind of the Knight of St. John had learned 
no mean civil experience; he had learned to sound a 
people — to know how far they would endure — to con- 
strue the signs of revolution — to be a reader of the 
times. After the downfall of the Duke of Athens, as 
a Free Companion, in other words a Freebooter, Mon- 
treal had augmented under the fierce Werner his 
riches and his renown. At present without employ- 
ment worthy his spirit of enterprise and intrigue, the 
disordered and chiefless state of Rome had attracted 
him thither. In the league he had proposed to 
Colonna — in the suggestions he had made to the van- 
ity of that Signor — his own object was to render his 
services indispensable — to constitute himself the head 
of the soldiery whom his proposed designs would 
render necessary to the ambition of the Colonna, could 
it be excited — and, in the vastness of his hardy genius 
for enterprise, he probably foresaw that the command 
of such a force would be, in reality, the command of 
Rome; a counter-revolution might easily unseat the 
Colonna and elect himself to the principality. It had 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 167 

sometimes been the custom of Roman, as of other 
Italian, States, to prefer for a chief magistrate, under 
the title of Podesta, a foreigner to a native. And Mon- 
treal hoped that he might possibly become to Rome 
what the Duke of Athens had been to Florence — an 
ambition he knew well enough to be above the gentle- 
man of Provence, but not above the leader of an army. 
But, as we have already seen, his sagacity perceived at 
once that he could not move the aged head of the 
patricians to those hardy and perilous measures which 
were necessary to the attainment of supreme power. 
Contented with his present station, and taught mod- 
eration by his age and his past reverses, Stephen 
Colonna was not the man to risk a scaffold from the 
hope to gain a throne. The contempt which the old 
patrician professed for the people, and their idol, also 
taught the deep-thinking Montreal that, if the Colonna 
possessed not the ambition, neither did he possess the 
policy, requisite for empire. The Knight found his 
caution against Rienzi in vain, and he turned to Rienzi 
himself. Little cared the Knight of St. John which 
party were uppermost — prince or people — so that his 
own objects were attained ; in fact, he had studied the 
humours of a people, not in order to serve, but to rule 
them ; and, believing all men actuated by a similar 
ambition, he imagined that, whether a demagogue or 
a patrician reigned, the people were equally to be vic- 
tims, and that the cry of “ Order ” on the one hand, 
or of “ Liberty ” on the other, was but the mere pre- 
text by which the energy of one man sought to justify 
his ambition over the herd. Deeming himself one 
of the most honourable spirits of his age, he believed 
in no honour which he was unable to feel ; and, sceptic 
in virtue, was therefore credulous of vice. 


RIENZI 


1 68 

But the boldness of his own nature inclined him, 
perhaps, rather to the adventurous Rienzi than to the 
self-complacent Colonna; and he considered that to 
the safety of the first he and his armed minions might 
be even more necessary than to that of the last. At 
present his main object was to learn from Rienzi the 
exact strength which he possessed, and how far he was 
prepared for any actual revolt. 

The acute Roman took care, on the one hand, how 
he betrayed to the Knight more than he yet knew, or 
he disgusted him by apparent reserve on the other. 
Crafty as Montreal was, he possessed not that wonder- 
ful art of mastering others which was so pre-eminently 
the gift of the eloquent and profound Rienzi, and the 
difference between the grades of their intellect was 
visible in their present conference. 

“ I see,” said Rienzi, “ that amidst all the events 
which have lately smiled upon my ambition, none is 
so favourable as that which assures me of your coun- 
tenance and friendship. In truth, I require some 
armed alliance. Would you believe it, our friends, so 
bold in private meetings, yet shrink from a public ex- 
plosion. They fear not the patricians, but the soldiery 
of the patricians ; for it is the remarkable feature in 
the Italian courage, that they have no terror for each 
other, but the casque and sword of a foreign hireling 
make them quail like deer.” 

“ They will welcome gladly, then, the assurance that 
such hirelings shall be in their service — not against 
them ; and as many as you desire for the revolution, 
so many shall you receive.” 

“ But the pay and the conditions,” said Rienzi, with 
his dry, sarcastic smile. “ How shall we arrange the 
first, and what shall we hold to be the second ? ” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 169 

“ That is an affair easily concluded,” replied Mon- 
treal. “ For me, to tell you frankly, the glory and 
excitement of so great a revulsion would alone suffice. 
I like to feel myself necessary to the completion of 
high events. For my men it is otherwise. Your first 
act will be to seize the revenues of the state. Well, 
whatever they amount to, the product of the first year, 
great or small, shall be divided amongst us. You the 
one half, I and my men the other half.” 

“ It is much,” said Rienzi, gravely, and as if in cal- 
culation, — “ but Rome cannot purchase her liberties 
too dearly. So be it then decided.” 

“ Amen ! — and now, then, what is your force ? 
for these eighty or a hundred signors of the Aven- 
tine, — worthy men, doubtless, — scarce suffice for a 
revolt!” 

Gazing cautiously round the room, the Roman 
placed his hand on Montreal's arm — 

“ Between you and me, it requires time to cement 
it. We shall be unable to stir these five weeks. I 
have too rashly anticipated the period. The corn is 
indeed cut, but I must now, by private adjuration and 
address, bind up the scattered sheaves.” 

“ Five weeks,” repeated Montreal ; “ that is far 
longer than I anticipated.” 

“ What I desire,” continued Rienzi, fixing his 
searching eyes upon Montreal, “ is, that, in the mean- 
while, we should preserve a profound calm, — we 
should remove every suspicion. I shall bury myself 
in my studies, and convoke no more meetings.” 

“ Well ” 

“ And for yourself, noble Knight, might I venture 
to dictate, I would pray you to mix with the nobles — 
to profess for me and for the people the profoundest 


RIENZI 


170 

contempt — and to contribute to rock them yet more 
in the cradle of their false security. Meanwhile, you 
could quietly withdraw as many of the armed mercena- 
ries as you influence from Rome, and leave the nobles 
without their only defenders. Collecting these hardy 
warriors in the recesses of the mountains, a day’s 
march from hence, we may be able to summon them 
at need, and they shall appear at our gates, and in 
the midst of our rising — hailed as deliverers by the 
nobles, but in reality allies with the people. In the 
confusion and despair of our enemies at discovering 
their mistake, they will fly from the city.” 

“ And its revenues and its empire will become the 
appanage of the hardy soldier and the intriguing dem- 
agogue ! ” cried Montreal, with a laugh. 

“ Sir Knight, the division shall be equal.” 

“ Agreed!” 

“ And now, noble Montreal, a flask of our best 
vintage ! ” said Rienzi, changing his tone. 

“ You know the Provencals, ” answered Montreal, 
gaily. 

The wine was brought, the conversation became free 
and familiar, and Montreal, whose craft was acquired, 
and whose frankness was natural, unwittingly com- 
mitted his secret projects and ambition more nakedly 
to Rienzi than he had designed to do. They parted 
apparently the best of friends. 

“ By the way,” said Rienzi, as they drained the last 
goblet, “ Stephen Colonna betakes him to Corneto, 
with a convoy of corn, on the 19th. Will it not be as 
well if you join him? You can take that opportunity 
to whisper discontent to the mercenaries that accom- 
pany him on his mission, and induce them to our 
plan.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 171 

“ I thought of that before,” returned Montreal ; “ it 
shall be done. For the present, farewell ! ” 

“ ‘ His barb, and his sword. 

And his lady, the peerless, 

Are all that are prized 
By Orlando the fearless. 

“ ‘ Success to the Norman, 

The darling of story; 

His glory is pleasure — 

His pleasure is glory.’ ” 

Chanting this rude ditty as he resumed his mantle, 
the Knight waved his hand to Rienzi, and departed. 

Rienzi watched the receding form of his guest with 
an expression of hate and fear upon his countenance. 
“ Give that man the power,” he muttered, “ and he 
may be a second Totila.* Methinks I see, in his 
griping and ferocious nature, — through all the gloss 
of its gaiety and knightly grace, — the very personifica- 
tion of our old Gothic foes. I trust I have lulled him ! 
Verily, two suns could no more blaze in one hem- 
isphere, than Walter de Montreal and Cola di Rienzi 
live in the same city. The star-seers tell us that we 
feel a secret and uncontrollable antipathy to those 
whose astral influences destine them to work us evil; 
such antipathy do I feel for yon fair-faced homicide. 
Cross not my path, Montreal ! — cross not my path ! ” 

With this soliloquy Rienzi turned within, and, re- 
tiring to his apartment, was seen no more that night. 

* Innocent VI., some years afterwards, proclaimed Mon- 
treal to be worse than Totila. 


172 


RIENZI 


CHAPTER V 

THE PROCESSION OF THE BARONS. THE BEGINNING 

OF THE END 

It was the morning of the 19th of May, the air was 
brisk and clear, and the sun, which had just risen, 
shone cheerily upon the glittering casques and shears 
of a gallant procession of armed horsemen, sweeping 
through the long and principal street of Rome. The 
neighing of the horses, the ringing of the hoofs, the 
dazzle of the armour, and the tossing to and fro of the 
standards, adorned with the proud insignia of the 
Colonna, presented one of the gay and brilliant spec- 
tacles peculiar to the middle ages. 

At the head of the troop, on a stout palfrey, rode 
Stephen Colonna. At his right was the Knight of 
Provence, curbing, with an easy hand, a slight, but 
fiery steed of the Arab race : behind him followed two 
squires, the one leading his war-horse, the other bear- 
ing his lance and helmet. At the left of Stephen 
Colonna rode Adrian, grave and silent, and replying 
only by monosyllables to the gay bavardage of the 
Knight of Provence. A considerable number of the 
flower of the Roman nobles followed the old Baron ; 
and the train was closed by a serried troop of foreign 
horsemen, completely armed. 

There was no crowd in the street, — the citizens 
looked with seeming apathy at the procession from 
their half-closed shops. 

“ Have these Romans no passion for shows ? ” asked 
Montreal ; “ if they could be more easily amused they 
would be more easily governed.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 173 

“ Oh, Rienzi, and such buffoons, amuse them. We 
do better, — we terrify ! ” replied Stephen. 

“ What sings the troubadour, Lord Adrian ? ” said 
Montreal. 

“ ‘ Smiles, false smiles, should form the school 
For those who rise, and those who rule: 

The brave they trick, the fair subdue, 

Kings deceive, and States undo. 

Smiles, false smiles! 

“ ‘ Frowns, true frowns, ourselves betray, 

The brave arouse, the fair dismay, 

Sting the pride, which blood must heal, 

Mix the bowl, and point the steel. 

Frowns, true frowns! ’ 

“ The lay is of France, Signor; yet methinks it brings 
its wisdom from Italy ; — for the serpent smile is your 
countrymen’s proper distinction, and the frown ill be- 
comes them.” 

“ Sir Knight,” replied Adrian, sharply, and incensed 
at the taunt, “ you foreigners have taught us how to 
frown : — a virtue sometimes.” 

“ But not wisdom, unless the hand could maintain 
what the brow menaced,” returned Montreal, with 
haughtiness; for he had much of the Franc vivacity 
which often overcame his prudence ; and he had con- 
ceived a secret pique against Adrian since their inter- 
view at Stephen’s palace. 

“ Sir Knight,” answered Adrian, colouring, “ our 
conversation may lead to warmer words than I would 
desire to have with one who has rendered me so gal- 
lant a service.” 

“ Nay, then, let us go back to the troubadours,” 
said Montreal, indifferently. “ Forgive me if I do not 
think highly, in general, of Italian honour, or Italian 


174 


RIENZI 


valour; your valour I acknowledge, for I have wit- 
nessed it, and valour and honour go together, — let 
that suffice ! ” 

As Adrian was about to answer, his eye fell sud- 
denly on the burly form of Cecco del Vecchio, who 
was leaning his bare and brawny arms over his anvil, 
and gazing, with a smile, upon the group. There was 
something in that smile which turned the current of 
Adrian’s thoughts, and which he could not contem- 
plate without an unaccountable misgiving. 

“ A strong villain, that,” said Montreal, also eyeing 
the smith. “ I should like to enlist him. Fellow ! ” 
cried he, aloud, “ you have an arm that were as fit to 
wield the sword as to fashion it. Desert your anvil, 
and follow the fortunes of Fra Moreale ! ” 

The smith nodded his head. “ Signor Cavalier,” 
said he, gravely, “ we poor men have no passion for 
war; we want not to kill others — we desire only our- 
selves to live, — if you will let us ! ” 

“ By the Holy Mother, a slavish answer ! But you 
Romans ” 

“Are slaves ! ” interrupted the smith, turning away 
to the interior of his forge. 

“ The dog is mutinous ! ” said the old Colonna. 
And as the band swept on, the rude foreigners, en- 
couraged by their leaders, had each some taunt or jest, 
uttered in a barbarous attempt at the southern patois , 
for the lazy giant, as he again appeared in front of his 
forge, leaning on his anvil as before, and betraying 
no sign of attention to his insulters, save by a height- 
ened glow of his swarthy visage; — and so the gallant 
procession passed through the streets, and quitted the 
Eternal City. 

There was a long interval of deep silence — of gen- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 175 


eral calm — throughout the whole of Rome : the shops 
were still but half-opened ; no man betook himself to 
his business ; it was like the commencement of some 
holiday, when indolence precedes enjoyment. 

About noon, a few small knots of men might be 
seen scattered about the streets, whispering to each 
other, but soon dispersing; and every now and then, 
a single passenger, generally habited in the long robes 
used by the men of letters, or in the more sombre garb 
of monks, passed hurriedly up the street towards the 
Church of St. Mary of Egypt, once the Temple of For- 
tune. Then, again, all was solitary and deserted. 
Suddenly, there was heard the sound of a single trumpet! 
It swelled — it gathered on the ear. Cecco del Vec- 
chio looked up from his anvil ! A solitary horseman 
paced slowly by the forge, and wound a long loud 
blast of the trumpet suspended round his neck, as he 
passed through the middle of the street. Then might 
you see a crowd, suddenly, and as by magic, appear 
emerging from every corner ; the street became 
thronged with multitudes ; but it was only by the tramp 
of their feet, and an indistinct and low murmur, that 
they broke the silence. Again the horseman wound 
his trump, and when the note ceased, he cried aloud — 
“ Friends and Romans ! to-morrow, at dawn of day, 
let each man find himself unarmed before the Church 
of St. Angelo. Cola di Rienzi convenes the Romans 
to provide for the good state of Rome.” A shout, that 
seemed to shake the bases of the seven hills, broke 
forth at the end of this brief exhortation; the horse- 
man rode slowly on, and the crowd followed. — This 
was the commencement of the Revolution ! 


i/6 


RIENZI 


CHAPTER VI 

THE CONSPIRATOR BECOMES THE MAGISTRATE 

At midnight, when the rest of the city seemed 
hushed in rest, lights were streaming from the win- 
dows of the Church of St. Angelo. Breaking from its 
echoing aisles, the long and solemn notes of sacred 
music stole at frequent intervals upon the air. Rienzi 
was praying within the church ; thirty masses con- 
sumed the hours from night till morn, and all the sanc- 
tion of religion was invoked to consecrate the enter- 
prise of liberty.* The sun had long risen, and the 
crowd had long been assembled before the church 
door, and in vast streams along every street that led 
to it, — when the bell of the church tolled out long and 
merrily; and as it ceased, the voices of the choristers 
within chanted the following hymn, in which were 
somewhat strikingly, though barbarously, blended, the 
spirit of the classic patriotism with the fervour of re- 
ligious zeal : — 

THE ROMAN HYMN OF LIBERTY 
Let the mountains exult around !t 
On her seven-hill’d throne renown’d, 

Once more old Rome is crown’d! 

Jubilate! 

* In fact, I apprehend that if ever the life of Cola di Rienzi 
shall be written by a hand worthy of the task, it will be shown 
that a strong religious feeling was blended with the political en- 
thusiasm of the people, — the religious feeling of a premature and 
crude reformation, the legacy of Arnold of Brescia. It was not, 
however, one excited against the priests, but favoured by 
them. The principal conventual orders declared for the 
Revolution. 

f “ Exultent in circuito Vestro Montes,” &c. — Let the 
mountains exult around! So begins Rienzi’s letter to the 
Senate and Roman people: preserved by Hocsemius. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 

Sing out, O Vale and Wave! 

Look up from each laurell’d grave, 

Bright dust of the deathless brave! 

Jubilate! 

Pale Vision, what art thou? — Lo, 

From Time’s dark deeps, 

Like a wind, It sweeps, 

Like a Wind, when the tempests blow; 

A shadowy form — as a giant ghost — 

It stands in the midst of the armed host! 

The dead man’s shroud on Its awful limbs; 

And the gloom of Its presence the day-light dims: 
And the trembling world looks on aghast — 

All hail to the Soul of the mighty Past! 

Hail! all hail! 

As we speak — as we hallow — It moves, It breathes; 
From its clouded crest bud the laurel wreaths — 

As a Sun that leaps up from the arms of Night, 

The shadow takes shape, and the gloom takes light. 

Hail! all hail! 

The Soul of the Past, again 
To its ancient home. 

In the hearts of Rome, 

Hath come to resume its reign! 

O Fame, with a prophet’s voice, 

Bid the ends of the earth rejoice! 

Wherever the Proud are Strong, 

And Right is oppress’d by Wrong; — 

Wherever the day dim shines 

Through the cell where the captive pines; — 

Go forth, with a trumpet’s sound! 

And tell to the Nations round — 

On the Hills which the Heroes trod — 

In the shrines of the Saints of God — 

In the Caesars’ hall, and the Martyrs’ prison — 

That the slumber is broke, and the Sleeper arisen! 
That the reign of the Goth and the Vandal is o’er: 
And earth feels the tread of The Roman once more. 


1 77 


12 


I7« 


RIENZI 


As the hymn ended, the gate of the church opened ; 
the crowd gave way on either side, and, preceded by 
three of the young nobles of the inferior order, bear- 
ing standards of allegorical design, depicting the 
triumph of Liberty, Justice, and Concord, forth issued 
Rienzi, clad in complete armour, the helmet alone 
excepted. His face was pale with watching and in- 
tense excitement — but stern, grave, v and solemnly 
composed; and its expression so repelled any vocif- 
erous and vulgar burst of feeling, that those who be- 
held it hushed the shout on their lips, and stilled, by a 
simultaneous cry of reproof, the gratulations of the 
crowd behind. Side by side with Rienzi moved Rai- 
mond, Bishop of Orvietto : and behind, marching two 
by two, followed a hundred men-at-arms. In com- 
plete silence the procession began its way, until, as it 
approached the Capitol, the awe of the crowd gradu- 
ally vanished, and thousands upon thousands of voices 
rent the air with shouts of exultation and joy. 

Arrived at the foot of the great staircase, which then 
made the principal ascent to the square of the Capitol, 
the procession halted ; and as the crowd filled up that 
vast space in front — adorned and hallowed by many 
of the most majestic columns of the temples of old — 
Rienzi addressed the Populace, whom he had sud- 
denly elevated into a People. 

He depicted forcibly the servitude and misery of 
the citizens — the utter absence of all law — the want 
even of common security to life and property. He 
declared that, undaunted by the peril he incurred, he 
devoted his life to the regeneration of their common 
country ; and he solemnly appealed to the people to 
assist the enterprise, and at once to sanction and con- 
solidate the Revolution by an established code of law 



Forth issued Rienzi, clad in complete armour. 































» 




























































l 1 












\ 





































































* 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 179 

and a Constitutional Assembly. He then ordered the 
chart and outline of the Constitution he proposed, to 
be read by the Herald to the multitude. 

It created, — or rather revived, with new privileges 
and powers, — a Representative Assembly of Coun- 
cillors. It proclaimed, as its first law, one that seems 
simple enough to our happier times, but never hith- 
erto executed at Rome : Every wilful homicide, of 
whatever rank, was to be punished by death. It en- 
acted, that no private noble or citizen should be suf- 
fered to maintain fortifications and garrisons in the 
city or the country ; that the gates and bridges of the 
State should be under the control of whomsoever 
should be elected Chief Magistrate. It forbade all 
harbour of brigands, mercenaries, and robbers, on 
payment of a thousand marks of silver; and it made 
the Barons who possessed the neighbouring territories 
responsible for the safety of the roads, and the trans- 
port of merchandise. It took under the protection of 
the State the widow and the orphan. It appointed, 
in each of the quarters of the city, an armed militia, 
whom the tolling of the bell of the Capitol, at any 
hour, was to assemble to the protection of the State. 
It ordained, that in each harbour of the coast, a ves- 
sel should be stationed, for the safeguard of commerce. 
It decreed the sum of one hundred florins to the heirs 
of every man who died in the defence of Rome ; and it 
devoted the public revenues to the service and protec- 
tion of the State. 

Such, moderate at once and effectual, was the out- 
line of the New Constitution ; and it may amuse the 
reader to consider how great must have been the 
previous disorders of the city, when the common and 
elementary provisions of civilisation and security made 


i8o 


RIENZI 


the character of the code proposed, and the limit of a 
popular revolution. 

The most rapturous shouts followed this sketch of 
the New Constitution : and, amidst the clamour, up 
rose the huge form of Cecco del Vecchio. Despite his 
condition, he was a man of great importance at the 
present crisis : his zeal and his courage, and, perhaps, 
still more, his brute passion and stubborn prejudice, 
had made him popular. The lower order of mechanics 
looked to him as their head and representative ; out, 
then, he spake loud and fearlessly, — speaking well, be- 
cause his mind was full of what he had to say. 

“Countrymen and Citizens! — This New Constitu- 
tion meets with your approbation — so it ought. But 
what are good laws, if we do not have good men to 
execute them ? Who can execute a law so well as the 
man who designs it? If you ask me to give you a 
notion how to make a good shield, and my notion 
pleases you, would you ask me, or another smith, to 
make it for you? If you ask another, he may make 
a good shield, but it would not be the same as that 
which I should have made, and the description of 
which contented you. Cola di Rienzi has proposed 
a Code of Law that shall be our shield. Who should 
see that the shield become what he proposes, but Cola 
di Rienzi? Romans! I suggest that Cola di Rienzi 
be intrusted by the people with the authority, by what- 
soever name he pleases, of carrying the New Consti- 
tution into effect ; — and whatever be the means, we, 
the People, will bear him harmless.” 

“ Long life to Rienzi ! — long live Cecco del Vec- 
chio ! He hath spoken well ! — none but the Law- 
maker shall be the Governor ! ” 

Such were the acclamations which greeted the am- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 181 


bitious heart of the Scholar. The voice of the people 
invested him with the supreme power. He had cre- 
ated a Commonwealth — to become, if he desired it, a 
Despot ! 


CHAPTER VII 

LOOKING AFTER THE HALTER WHEN THE MARE IS 
STOLEN 

While such were the events at Rome, a servitor of 
Stephen Colonna was already on his way to Corneto. 
The astonishment with which the old Baron received 
the intelligence may be easily imagined. He lost not 
a moment in convening his troop ; and, while in all the 
bustle of departure, the Knight of St. John abruptly 
entered his presence. His mien had lost its usual 
frank composure. 

“ How is this ? ” said he, hastily ; “ a revolt ? — Rienzi 
sovereign of Rome? — can the news be believed? ” 

“ It is too true ! ” said Colonna, with a bitter smile. 
“ Where shall we hang him on our return ? ” 

“ Talk not so wildly, Sir Baron,” replied Montreal, 
discourteously ; “ Rienzi is stronger than you think 
for. I know what men are, and you only know what 
noblemen are ! Where is your kinsman, Adrian ? ” 

“ He is here, noble Montreal,” said Stephen, shrug- 
ging his shoulders, with a half-disdainful smile at the 
rebuke, which he thought it more prudent not to 
resent ; “ he is here ! — see him enter ! ” 

“ You have heard the news?” exclaimed Montreal. 
“ I have.” 

“ And despise the revolution ? ” 

“ I fear it ! ” 


RIENZI 


182 

“ Then you have some sense in you. But this is 
none of my affair: I will not interrupt your consulta- 
tions. Adieu for the present ! ” and, ere Stephen 
could prevent him, the Knight had quitted the cham- 
ber. 

“ What means this demagogue ? ” Montreal mut- 
tered to himself. “Would he trick me? — has he got 
rid of my presence in order to monopolise all the profit 
of the enterprise ? I fear me so ! — the cunning Ro- 
man ! We northern warriors could never compete 
with the intellect of these Italians but for their cow- 
ardice. But what shall be done? I have already bid 
Rodolf communicate with the brigands, and they are 
on the eve of departure from their present lord. Well ! 
let it be so ! Better that I should first break the power 
of the Barons, and then make my own terms, sword 
in hand, with the plebeian. And if I fail in this, — 
sweet Adeline ! I shall see thee again ! — that is some 
comfort ! — and Louis of Hungary will bid high for the 
arm and brain of Walter de Montreal. What, ho! 
Rodolf ! ” he exclaimed aloud, as the sturdy form of 
the trooper, half-armed and half-intoxicated, reeled 
along the court-yard. “ Knave ! art thou drunk at this 
hour? ” 

“ Drunk or sober,” answered Rodolf, bending low, 
“ I am at thy bidding.” 

“Well said! — are thy friends ripe for the saddle?” 

“ Eighty of them already tired of idleness and the 
dull air of Rome, will fly wherever Sir Walter de Mon- 
treal wishes.” 

“ Hasten, then, — bid them mount ; we go not hence 
with the Colonna — we leave while they are yet talk- 
ing ! — Bid my squires attend me ! ” 

And when Stephen Colonna was settling himself on 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 183 

his palfrey, he heard, for the first time, that the Knight 
of Provence, Rodolf the trooper, and eighty of the 
stipendiaries, had already departed, — whither, none 
knew. 

“ To precede us to Rome ! gallant barbarian ! ” said 
Colonna. “ Sirs, on ! ” 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE ATTACK THE RETREAT THE ELECTION AND 

THE ADHESION 

Arriving at Rome, the company of the Colonna 
found the gates barred, and the walls manned. Ste- 
phen bade advance his trumpeters, with one of his 
captains, imperiously to demand admittance. 

“We have orders,” replied the chief of the town- 
guard, “ to admit none who bear arms, flags, or 
trumpets. Let the Lords Colonna dismiss their train, 
and they are welcome.” 

“ Whose are these insolent mandates ? ” asked the 
captain. 

“ Those of the Lord Bishop of Orvietto and Cola 
di Rienzi, joint protectors of the Buono Stato.”* 

The captain of the Colonna returned to his chief 
with these tidings. The rage of Stephen was inde- 
scribable. “ Go back,” he cried, as soon as he could 
summon voice, “ and say, that, if the gates are not 
forthwith opened to me and mine, the blood of the 
plebeians be on their own head. As for Raimond, 
Vicars of the Pope have high spiritual authority, none 
temporal. Let him prescribe a fast, and he shall be 
* Good Estate. 


RIENZI 


184 

obeyed ; but, for the rash Rienzi, say that Stephen Co- 
lonna will seek him in the Capitol to-morrow, for the 
purpose of throwing him out of the highest window.” 

These messages the envoy failed not to deliver. 

The captain of the Romans was equally stern in his 
reply. 

“ Declare to your Lord,” said he, “ that Rome holds 
him and his as rebels and traitors; and that the 
moment you regain your troop, our archers receive 
our command to draw their bows — in the name of the 
Pope, the City, and the Liberator.” 

This threat was executed to the letter; and ere the 
old Baron had time to draw up his men in the best 
array, the gates were thrown open, and a well-armed, 
if undisciplined, multitude poured forth, with fierce 
shouts, clashing their arms, and advancing the azure 
banners of the Roman State. So desperate their 
charge, and so great their numbers, that the Barons, 
after a short and tumultuous conflict, were driven 
back, and chased by their pursuers for more than a 
mile from the walls of the city. 

As soon as the Barons recovered their disorder and 
dismay, a hasty council was held, at which various and 
contradictory opinions were loudly urged. Some were 
for departing on the instant to Palestrina, which be- 
longed to the Colonna, and possessed an almost inac- 
cessible fortress. Others were for dispersing, and en- 
tering peaceably, and in detached parties, through the 
other gates. Stephen Colonna — himself incensed and 
disturbed from his usual self-command — was unable to 
preserve his authority ; Luca di Savelli,* a timid, 

* The more correct orthography were Luca di Savello. but 
the one in the text is preserved as more familiar to the Eng- 
lish reader. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 185 

though treacherous and subtle man, already turned 
his horse’s head, and summoned his men to follow him 
to his castle in Romagna, when the old Colonna be- 
thought himself of a method by which to keep his 
band from a disunion that he had the sense to perceive 
would prove fatal to the common cause. He pro- 
posed that they should at once repair to Palestrina, 
and there fortify themselves; while one of the chiefs 
should be selected to enter Rome alone, and appar- 
ently submissive, to examine the strength of Rienzi ; 
and with the discretionary power to resist if possible, — 
or to make the best terms he could for the admission 
of the rest. 

“ And who,” asked Savelli, sneeringly, “ will under- 
take this dangerous mission ? Who, unarmed and 
alone, will expose himself to the rage of the fiercest 
populace of Italy, and the caprice of a demagogue in 
the first flush of his power?” 

The Barons and the Captains looked at each other 
in silence. Savelli laughed. 

Hitherto Adrian had taken no part in the confer- 
ence, and but little in the previous contest. He now 
came to the support of his kinsman. 

“ Signors ! ” said he, “ I will undertake this mission, 
— but on mine own account, independently of yours ; — 
free to act as I may think best, for the dignity of a 
Roman noble, and the interests of a Roman citizen ; 
free to raise my standard on mine own tower, or to 
yield fealty to the new estate.” 

“ Well said ! ” cried the old Colonna, hastily. 
“ Heaven forbid we should enter Rome as foes, if to 
enter it as friends be yet allowed us ! What say ye, 
gentles ? ” 

“ A more worthy choice could not be selected,” said 


RIENZI 


1 86 

Savelli ; “ but I should scarce deem it possible that a 
Colonna could think there was an option between re- 
sistance and fealty to this upstart revolution.” 

“ Of that, Signor, I will judge for myself ; if you 
demand an agent for yourselves, choose another. I 
announce to ye frankly, that I have seen enough of 
other states to think the recent condition of Rome 
demanded some redress. Whether Rienzi and Rai- 
mond be worthy of the task they have assumed, I 
know not.” 

Savelli was silent. The old Colonna seized the 
word. 

“To Palestrina, then! — are ye all agreed on this? 
At the worst, or at the best, we should not be divided ! 
On this condition alone I hazard the safety of my 
kinsman ! ” 

The Barons murmured a little among themselves ; — 
the expediency of Stephen’s proposition was evident, 
and they at length assented to it. 

Adrian saw them depart, and then, attended only by 
his ’squire, slowly rode towards a more distant en- 
trance into the city. On arriving at the gates, his 
name was demanded — he gave it freely. 

“ Enter, my Lord,” said the warder, “ our orders 
were to admit all that came unarmed and unattended. 
But to the Lord Adrian di Castello, alone, we had a 
special injunction to give the honours due to a citizen 
and a friend.” 

Adrian, a little touched by this implied recollection 
of friendship, now rode through a long line of armed 
citizens, who saluted him respectfully as he passed, 
and, as he returned the salutation with courtesy, a loud 
and approving shout followed his horse’s steps. 

So, save by one attendant, alone, and in peace, the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 187 

young patrician proceeded leisurely through the long 
streets, empty and deserted, — for nearly one half of the 
inhabitants were assembled at the walls, and nearly 
the other half were engaged in a more peaceful duty, — 
until, penetrating the interior, the wide and elevated 
space of the Capitol broke upon his sight. The sun 
was slowly setting over an immense multitude that 
overspread the spot, and high above a scaffold raised 
in the centre, shone, to the western ray, the great 
Gonfalon of Rome, studded with silver stars. 

Adrian reined in his steed. “ This,” thought he, 
“ is scarcely the hour thus publicly to confer with 
Rienzi ; yet fain would I, mingled with the crowd, 
judge how far his power is supported, and in what 
manner it is borne.” Musing a little, he withdrew into 
one of the obscurer streets, then wholly deserted, sur- 
rendered his horse to his ’squire, and, borrowing of 
the latter his morion and long mantle, passed to one 
of the more private entrances of the Capitol, and, 
enveloped in his cloak, stood — one of the crowd — in- 
tent upon all that followed. 

“ And what,” he asked of a plainly dressed citizen, 
“ is the cause of this assembly?” 

“ Heard you not the proclamation ? ” returned the 
other in some surprise. “ Do you not know that the 
Council of the City and the Guilds of the Artizans have 
passed a vote to proffer to Rienzi the title of king of 
Rome? ” 

The Knight of the Emperor, to whom belonged that 
august dignity, drew back in dismay. 

“ And,” resumed the citizen, “ this assembly of all 
the lesser Barons, Councillors, and Artificers, is con- 
vened to hear the answer.” 

“ Of course it will be assent? ” 


RIENZI 


1 88 

“ I know not — there are strange rumours ; hitherto 
the Liberator has concealed his sentiments/’ 

At that instant a loud flourish of martial music an- 
nounced the approach of Rienzi. The crowd tumul- 
tuously divided, and presently, from the Palace of the 
Capitol to the scaffold, passed Rienzi, still in complete 
armour, save the helmet, and with him, in all the pomp 
of his episcopal robes, Raimond of Orvietto. 

As soon as Rienzi had ascended the platform, and 
was thus made visible to the whole concourse, no 
words can suffice to paint the enthusiasm of the scene 
— the shouts, the gestures, the tears, the sobs, the wild 
laughter, in which the sympathy of those lively and 
susceptible children of the South broke forth. The 
windows and balconies of the Palace were thronged 
with the wives and daughters of the lesser Barons and 
more opulent citizens ; and Adrian, with a slight start, 
beheld amongst them, — pale — agitated — tearful, — the 
lovely face of his Irene — a face that even thus would 
have outshone all present, but for one by her side, 
whose beauty the emotion of the hour only served to 
embellish. The dark, large, and flashing eyes of Nina 
di Raselli, just bedewed, were fixed proudly on the 
hero of her choice: and pride, even more than joy, 
gave a richer carnation to her cheek, and the presence 
of a queen to her noble and rounded form. The set- 
ting sun poured its full glory over the spot ; the bared 
heads — the animated faces of the crowd — the gray and 
vast mass of the Capitol ; and, not far from the side of 
Rienzi, it brought into a strange and startling light 
the sculptured form of a colossal Lion of Basalt,* 

* The existent Capitol is very different from the building at 
the time of Rienzi; and the reader must not suppose that the 
present staircase, designed by Michael Angelo, at the base of 
which are two marble lions, removed by Pius IV. from the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 189 

which gave its name to a staircase leading to the Cap- 
itol. It was an old Egyptian relic, — vast, worn, and 
grim; some symbol of a vanished creed, to whose 
face the sculptor had imparted something of the aspect 
of the human countenance. And this producing the 
effect probably sought, gave at all times a mystic, pre- 
ternatural, and fearful expression to the stern features, 
and to that solemn and hushed repose, which is so 
peculiarly the secret of Egyptian sculpture. The awe 
which this colossal and frowning image was calculated 
to convey, was felt yet more deeply by the vulgar, 
because “ the Staircase of the Lion ” was the wonted 
place of the state executions, as of the state ceremo- 
nies. And seldom did the stoutest citizen forget to 
cross himself, or feel unchilled with a certain terror, 
whenever, passing by the place, he caught, suddenly 
fixed upon him, the stony gaze and ominous grin of 
that old monster from the cities of the Nile. 

It was some minutes before the feelings of the as- 
sembly allowed Rienzi to be heard. But when, at 
length, the last shout closed with a simultaneous cry of 
“ Long live Rienzi ! Deliverer and King of Rome ! ” 
he raised his hand impatiently, and the curiosity of 
the crowd procured a sudden silence. 

“ Deliverer of Rome, my countrymen ! ” said he. 
“Yes! change not that title — I am too ambitious to 
be a King! Preserve your obedience to your Pontiff 
— your allegiance to your Emperor — but be faithful to 
your own liberties. Ye have a right to your ancient 
constitution ; but that constitution needed not a king. 
Emulous of the name of Brutus, I am above the titles 

Church of St. Stephen del Cacco, was the staircase of the 
Lion of Basalt, which bears so stern a connexion with the 
history of Rienzi. That mute witness of dark deeds is no 
more. 


R1ENZI 


190 

of a Tarquin ! Romans, awake ! awake ! be inspired 
with a nobler love of liberty than that which, if it de- 
thrones the tyrant of to-day, would madly risk the 
danger of tyranny for to-morrow ! Rome wants still 
a liberator — never an usurper! — Take away yon bau- 
ble !” 

There was a pause ; the crowd were deeply affected 
— but they uttered no shouts ; they looked anxiously 
for a reply from their councillors, or popular leaders. 

“ Signor,” said Pandulfo di Guido, who was one of 
the Caporioni, “ your answer is worthy of your fame. 
But, in order to enforce the law, Rome must endow 
you with a legal title — if not that of King, deign to 
accept that of Dictator or of Consul.” 

“ Long live the Consul Rienzi ! ” cried several 
voices. 

Rienzi waved his hand for silence. 

“ Pandulfo di Guido ! and you, honoured Council- 
lors of Rome ! such title is at once too august for my 
merits, and too inapplicable to my functions. I am 
one of the people — the people are my charge ; the 
nobles can protect themselves. Dictator and Consul 
are the appellations of patricians. No,” he con- 
tinued after a short pause, “ if ye deem it necessary, 
for the preservation of order, that your fellow-citizen 
should be entrusted with a formal title and a recog- 
nised power, be it so : but let it be such as may attest 
the nature of our new institutions, the wisdom of the 
people, and the moderation of their leaders. Once, 
my countrymen, the people elected, for the protectors 
of their rights and the guardians of their freedom, 
certain officers responsible to the people, — chosen 
from the people, — provident for the people. Their 
power was great, but it was delegated : a dignity, but 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 191 

a trust. The name of these officers was that of 
Tribune. Such is the title that conceded, not by 
clamour alone, but in the full Parliament of the people, 
and accompanied by, such Parliament, ruling with 
such Parliament, — such is the title I will gratefully 
accept.”* 

The speech, the sentiments of Rienzi were rendered 
far more impressive by a manner of earnest and deep 
sincerity; and some of the Romans, despite their cor- 
ruption, felt a momentary exultation in the forbear- 
ance of their chief. “ Long live the Tribune of 
Rome ! ” was shouted, but less loud than the cry of 
“ Live the King ! ” And the vulgar almost thought 
the revolution was incomplete, because the loftier title 
was not assumed. To a degenerate and embruted 
people, liberty seems too plain a thing, if unadorned 
by the pomp of the very despotism they would de- 
throne. Revenge is their desire, rather than Release ; 
and the greater the new power they create, the greater 
seems their revenge against the old. Still all that was 
most respected, intelligent, and powerful amongst the 
assembly, were delighted at a temperance which they 
foresaw would free Rome from a thousand dangers, 
whether from the Emperor or the Pontiff. And their 
delight was yet increased, when Rienzi added, so soon 
as returning silence permitted — “ And since we have 
been equal labourers in the same cause, whatever hon- 
ours be awarded to me, should be extended also to the 

* Gibbon and Sismondi alike, (neither of whom appears to 
have consulted with much attention the original documents 
preserved by Hocsemius,) say nothing of the Representative 
Parliament, which it was almost Rienzi’s first public act to 
institute or model. Six days from the memorable 19th of 
May, he addressed the people of Viterbo in a letter yet extant. 
He summons them to elect and send two syndics, or ambas- 
sadors, to the general Parliament. 


192 


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Vicar of the Pope, Raimond, Lord Bishop of Orvietto. 
Remember, that both Church and State are properly 
the rulers of the people, only because their benefac- 
tors. — Long live the first Vicar of a Pope that was 
ever also the Liberator of a State ! ” 

Whether or not Rienzi was only actuated by patriot- 
ism in his moderation, certain it is, that his sagacity 
was at least equal to his virtue ; and perhaps nothing 
could have cemented the revolution more strongly, 
than thus obtaining for a colleague the Vicar, and 
Representative of the Pontifical power: it borrowed, 
for the time, the sanction of the Pope himself — thus 
made to share the responsibility of the revolution, with- 
out monopolising the power of the State. 

While the crowd hailed the proposition of Rienzi; 
while their shouts yet filled the air; while Raimond, 
somewhat taken by surprise, sought by signs and ges- 
tures to convey at once his gratitude and his humility, 
the Tribune-Elect, casting his eyes around,' perceived 
many hitherto attracted by curiosity, and whom, from 
their rank and weight, it was desirable to secure in the 
first heat of the public enthusiasm. Accordingly, as 
soon as Raimond had uttered a short and pompous 
harangue, — in which his eager acceptance of the 
honour proposed him was ludicrously contrasted by 
his embarrassed desire not to involve himself or the 
Pope in any untoward consequences that might ensue, 
— Rienzi motioned to two heralds that stood behind 
upon the platform, and one of these advancing, pro- 
claimed — “ That as it was desirable that all hitherto 
neuter should now profess themselves friends or foes, 
so they were invited to take at once the oath of obedi- 
ence to the laws, and subscription to the Buono Stato.” 

So great was the popular fervour, and so much had 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 193 

it been refined and deepened in its tone by the ad- 
dresses of Rienzi, that even the most indifferent had 
caught the contagion : and no man liked to be seen 
shrinking from the rest : so that the most neutral, 
knowing themselves the most marked, were the most 
entrapped into allegiance to the Buono Stato. The 
first who advanced to the platform and took the oath 
was the Signor di Raselli, the father of Nina. — Others 
of the lesser nobility followed his example. 

The presence of the Pope’s Vicar induced the aristo- 
cratic; the fear of the people urged the selfish; the 
encouragement of shouts and congratulations excited 
the vain. The space between Adrian and Rienzi was 
made clear. The young noble suddenly felt the eyes 
of the Tribune were upon him ; he felt that those eyes 
recognised and called upon him — he coloured — he 
breathed short. The noble forbearance of Rienzi had 
touched him to the heart ;— the applause — the pageant 
— the enthusiasm of the scene, intoxicated — confused 
him. — He lifted his eyes and saw before him the sister 
of the Tribune — the lady of his love ! His indecision 
— his pause — continued, when Raimond, observing 
him, and obedient to a whisper from Rienzi, artfully 
cried aloud — “ Room for the Lord Adrian di Castello ! 
a Colonna ! a Colonna ! ” Retreat was cut off. Me- 
chanically, and as if in a dream, Adrian ascended to 
the platform: and to complete the triumph of the 
Tribune, the sun’s last ray beheld the flower of the 
Colonna — the best and bravest of the Barons of Rome 
— confessing' his authority, and subscribing to his laws. 


13 


BOOK III 

THE FREEDOM WITHOUT LAW 


Ben furo avventurosi i cavalieri 
Ch’ erano a quella eta, che nei valloni, 

Nelle scure spelonche e boschi fieri, 

Tane di serpi, d’ orsi e di leoni, 

Trovavan quel che nei palazzi altieri 
Appena or trovar pon giudici buoni; 

Donne che nella lor piu fresca etade 
Sien degne di aver titol di beltade.” 

Ariosto, Orl. Fur. can. xiii, i 


CHAPTER I 

THE RETURN OF WALTER DE MONTREAL TO HIS 
FORTRESS 

When Walter de Montreal and his mercenaries 
quitted Corneto, they made the best of their way to 
Rome ; arriving there, long before the Barons, they 
met with a similar reception at the gates, but Montreal 
prudently forbore all attack and menace, and con- 
tented himself with sending his trusty Rodolf into the 
city to seek Rienzi, and to crave permission to enter 
with his troop. Rodolf returned in a shorter time 
than was anticipated. “ Well,” said Montreal impa- 
tiently, “ you have the order I suppose. Shall we bid 
them open the gates ? ” 

“ Bid them open our graves,” replied the Saxon, 
bluntly. “ I trust my next heraldry will be to a more 
friendly court.” 

194 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 195 

“ How ! what mean you ? ” 

“ Briefly this : — I found the new governor, or what- 
ever his title, in the palace of the Capitol, surrounded 
by guards and councillors, and in a suit of the finest 
armour I ever saw out of Milan.” 

“ Pest on his armour ! give us his answer.” 

Tell Walter de Montreal/ said he, then, if you 
will have it, ‘ that Rome is no longer a den of thieves ; 
tell him, that if he enters, he must abide a trial * ” 

“ A trial ! ” cried Montreal, grinding his teeth. 

. “ ‘ For participation in the evil doings of Werner 
and his freebooters.’ ” 

“Ha!” 

“ * Tell him, moreover, that Rome declares war 
against all robbers, whether in tent or tower, and that 
we order him in forty-eight hours to quit the terri- 
tories of the Church.’ ” 

“ He thinks, then, not only to deceive, but to 
menace me? Well, proceed.” 

“ That was all his reply to you ; to me, however, he 
vouchsafed a caution still more obliging. ‘ Hark ye, 
friend,’ said he, ‘ for every German bandit found in 
Rome after to-morrow, our welcome will be cord and 
gibbet ! Begone.’ ” 

“ Enough ! enough ! ” cried Montreal, colouring 
with rage and shame. “ Rodolf, you have a skilful 
eye in these matters, how many Northmen would it 
take to give that same gibbet to the upstart? ” 

Rodolf scratched his huge head, and seemed awhile 
lost in calculation ; at length he said, “ You, Captain, 
must be the best judge, when I tell you, that twenty 
thousand Romans are the least of his force ; so I heard 
by the way ; and this evening he is to accept the crown, 
and depose the Emperor.” 


196 


RIENZI 


“ Ha, ha ! ” laughed Montreal, “ is he so mad ? 
then he will want not our aid to hang himself. My 
friends, let us wait the result. At present neither 
barons nor people seem likely to fill our coffers. 
Let us across the country to Terracina. Thank the 
saints,” and Montreal (who was not without a 
strange kind of devotion, — indeed he deemed that 
virtue essential to chivalry) crossed himself piously, 
“ the free companions are never long without quar- 
ters ! ” 

“ Hurrah for the Knight of St. John ! ” cried the 
mercenaries. “ And hurrah for fair Provence and 
bold Germany ! ” added the Knight, as he waved his 
hand on high, struck spurs into his already wearied 
horse, and, breaking out into his favourite song, 

“ His steed and his sword, 

And his lady the peerless,” &c., 

Montreal, with his troop, struck gallantly across the 
Campagna. 

The Knight of St. John soon, however, fell into an 
absorbed and moody reverie; and his followers im- 
itating the silence of their chief, in a few minutes the 
clatter of their arms and the jingle of their spurs, alone 
disturbed the stillness of the wide and gloomy plains 
across which they made towards Terracina. Montreal 
was recalling with bitter resentment his conference 
with Rienzi ; and, proud of his own sagacity and talent 
for scheming, he was humbled and vexed at the dis- 
covery that he had been duped by a wilier intriguer. 
His ambitious designs on Rome, too, were crossed, 
and even crushed for the moment, by the very means 
to which he had looked for their execution. He had 
seen enough of the barons to feel assured that while 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 197 

Stephen Colonna lived, the head of the order, he was 
not likely to obtain that mastery in the state which, 
if leagued with a more ambitious or a less timid and 
less potent signor, might reward his aid in expelling 
Rienzi. Under all circumstances, he deemed it ad- 
visable to remain aloof. Should Rienzi grow strong, 
Montreal might make the advantageous terms he 
desired with the Barons ; should Rienzi’s power decay, 
his pride, necessarily humbled, might drive him to 
seek the assistance, and submit to the proposals, of 
Montreal. The ambition of the Provengal, though 
vast and daring, was not of a consistent and perse- 
vering nature. Action and enterprise were dearer to 
him, as yet, than the rewards which they proffered ; 
and if baffled in one quarter, he turned himself, with 
the true spirit of the knight-errant, to any other field 
for his achievements. Louis, king of Hungary, stern, 
warlike, implacable, seeking vengeance for the murder 
of his brother, the ill-fated husband of Joanna, (the 
beautiful and guilty Queen of Naples — the Mary 
Stuart of Italy,) had already prepared himself to sub- 
ject the garden of Campania to the Hungarian yoke. 
Already his bastard brother had entered Italy — already 
some of the Neapolitan states had declared in his 
favour — already promises had been held out by the 
northern monarch to the scattered Companies — and 
already those fierce mercenaries gathered menacingly 
round the frontiers of that Eden of Italy, attracted, 
as vultures to the carcass, by the preparation of war 
and the hope of plunder. Such was the field to which 
the bold mind of Montreal now turned its thoughts ; 
and his soldiers had joyfully conjectured his design 
when they had heard him fix Terracina as their bourne. 
Provident of every resource, and refining his auda- 


RIENZI 


198 

cious and unprincipled valour by a sagacity which 
promised, when years had more matured and sobered 
his restless chivalry, to rank him among the most 
dangerous enemies Italy had ever known, on the first 
sign of Louis’s warlike intentions, Montreal had 
seized and fortified a strong castle on that delicious 
coast beyond Terracina, by which lies the celebrated 
pass once held by Fabius against Hannibal, and which 
Nature has so favoured for war as for peace, that a 
handful of armed men might stop the march of an 
army. The possession of such a fortress on the very 
frontiers of Naples, gave Montreal an importance of 
which he trusted to avail himself with the Hungarian 
king : and now, thwarted in his more grand and aspir- 
ing projects upon Rome, his sanguine, active, and 
elastic spirit congratulated itself upon the resource it 
had secured. 

The band halted at nightfall on this side the Pontine 
Marshes, seizing without scruple some huts and sheds, 
from which they ejected the miserable tenants, and 
slaughtering with no greater ceremony the swine, cat- 
tle, and poultry of a neighbouring farm. Shortly after 
sunrise they crossed those fatal swamps which had 
already been partially drained by Boniface VIII.; and 
Montreal, refreshed by sleep, reconciled to his late 
mortification by the advantages opened to him in the 
approaching war with Naples, and rejoicing as he 
approached a home which held one who alone divided 
his heart with ambition, had resumed all the gaiety 
which belonged to his Gallic birth and his reckless 
habits. And that deadly but consecrated road, where 
yet may be seen the labours of Augustus, in the canal 
which had witnessed the Voyage so humorously de- 
scribed by Horace, echoed with the loud laughter 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 199 

and frequent snatches of wild song by which the bar- 
barian robbers enlivened their rapid march. 

It was noon when the company entered upon that 
romantic pass I have before referred to- — the ancient 
Lantulae. High to the left rose steep and lofty rocks, 
then covered by the prodigal verdure, and the count- 
less flowers, of the closing May ; while to the right the 
sea, gentle as a lake, and blue as heaven, rippled 
musically at their feet. Montreal, who largely pos- 
sessed the poetry of his land, which is so eminently 
allied with a love of nature, might at another time have 
enjoyed the beauty of the scene ; but at that moment 
less external and more household images were busy 
within him. 

Abruptly ascending where a winding path up the 
mou-ntain offered a rough and painful road to their 
horses' feet, the band at length arrived before a strong 
fortress of gray stone, whose towers were concealed 
by the lofty foliage, until they emerged sullenly and 
suddenly from the laughing verdure. The sound of 
the bugle, the pennon of the knight, the rapid watch- 
word, produced a loud shout of welcome from a score 
or two of grim soldiery on the walls ; the portcullis 
was raised, and Montreal, throwing himself hastily 
from his panting steed, sprung across the threshold 
of a jutting porch, and traversed a huge hall, when a 
lady — young, fair, and richly dressed — met him with 
a step equally swift, and fell breathless and over- 
joyed into his arms. 

“ My Walter! my dear, dear Walter; welcome — ten 
thousand welcomes ! ” 

“ Adeline, my beautiful — my adored — I see thee 
again ! ” 

Such were the greetings interchanged as Montreal 


200 


RIENZI 


pressed his lady to his heart, kissing away her tears* 
and lifting her face to his, while he gazed on its deli- 
cate bloom with all the wistful anxiety of affection 
after absence. 

“ Fairest,” said he, tenderly, “ thou hast pined, thou 
hast lost roundness and colour since we parted. 
Come, come, thou art too gentle, or too foolish, for a 
soldier’s love.” 

“ Ah, Walter ! ” replied Adeline, clinging to him, 
“ now thou art returned, and I shall be well. Thou 
wilt not leave me again a long, long time.” 

“ Sweet one, no ; ” and flinging his arm round her 
waist, the lovers — for alas ! they were not wedded ! — 
retired to the more private chambers of the castle. 


CHAPTER II 

THE LIFE OF LOVE AND WAR THE MESSENGER OF 

PEACE THE JOUST 

Girt with his soldiery, secure in his feudal hold, 
enchanted with the beauty of the earth, sky, and sea 
around, and passionately adoring his Adeline, Mon- 
treal for awhile forgot all his more stirring projects 
and his ruder occupations. His nature was capable 
of great tenderness, as of great ferocity ; and his heart 
smote him when he looked at the fair cheek of his 
lady, and saw that even his presence did not suffice 
to bring back the smile and the fresh hues of old. 
Often he cursed that fatal oath of his knightly order 
which forbade him to wed, though with one more than 
his equal ; and remorse embittered his happiest hours. 
That gentle lady in that robber hold, severed from 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 201 


all she had been taught most to prize — mother, friends, 
and fair fame — only loved her seducer the more in- 
tensely; only the more concentrated upon one object 
all the womanly and tender feelings denied every other 
and less sinful vent. But she felt her shame, though 
she sought to conceal it, and a yet more gnawing grief 
than even that of shame contributed to prey upon her 
spirits and undermine her health. Yet, withal, in 
Montreal’s presence she was happy, even in regret; 
and in her declining health she had at least a consola- 
tion in the hope to die while his love was undimin- 
ished. Sometimes they made short excursions, for 
the disturbed state of the country forbade them to 
wander far from the castle, through the sunny woods, 
and along the glassy sea, which make the charm of 
that delicious scenery ; and that mixture of the savage 
with the tender, the wild escort, the tent in some green 
glade in the woods at noon, the lute and voice of 
Adeline, with the fierce soldiers grouped and listening 
at the distance, might have well suited the verse of 
Ariosto, and harmonised singularly with that strange, 
disordered, yet chivalric time, in which the Classic 
South became the seat of the Northern Romance. 
Still, however, Montreal maintained his secret inter- 
course with the Hungarian king, and, plunged in new 
projects, willingly forsook for the present all his de- 
signs on Rome. Yet deemed he that his more august 
ambition was only delayed, and, bright in the more 
distant prospects of his adventurous career, rose the 
Capitol of Rome and shone the sceptre of the Caesars. 

One day, as Montreal, with a small troop in attend- 
ance, passed on horseback near the walls of Terracina, 
the gates were suddenly thrown open, and a numerous 
throng issued forth, preceded by a singular figure, 


202 


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whose steps they followed bareheaded and with loud 
blessings; a train of monks closed the procession, 
chanting a hymn, of which the concluding words were 
as follows : — 

Beauteous on the mountains — lo, 

The feet of him glad tidings gladly bringing; 

The flowers along his pathway grow, 

And voices, heard aloft, to angel harps are singing: 

And strife and slaughter cease 

Before thy blessed way, Young Messenger of Peace! 

O’er the mount, and through the moor, 

Glide thy holy steps secure. 

Day and night no fear thou knowest, 

Lonely — but with God thou goest. 

Where the heathen rage the fiercest, 

Through the armed throng thou piercest. 

For thy coat of mail, bedight 
In thy spotless robe of white. 

For the sinful sword — thy hand 
Bearing bright the silver wand: 

Through the camp and through the court. 

Through the bandit’s gloomy fort, 

On the mission of the dove, 

Speeds the minister of love; 

By a word the wildest taming, 

And the world to Christ reclaiming: 

While, as once the waters trod 
By the footsteps of thy God, 

War, and wrath, and rapine cease, 

Hush’d round thy charmed path, O Messenger of Peace! 

The stranger to whom these honours were paid was a 
young, unbearded man, clothed in white wrought with 
silver ; he was unarmed and barefooted : in his hand 
he held a tall silver wand. Montreal and his party 
halted in astonishment and wonder, and the knight, 
spurring his horse toward the crowd, confronted the 
stranger. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 203 

“ How, friend,” quoth the Provengal, “ is thine a 
new order of pilgrims, or what especial holiness has 
won thee this homage ? ” 

“ Back, back,” cried some of the bolder of the 
crowd, “ let not the robber dare arrest the Messenger 
of Peace.” 

Montreal waved his hand disdainfully. 

“ I speak not to you, good sirs, and the worthy friars 
in your rear know full well that I never injured herald 
or palmer.” 

The monks, ceasing from their hymn, advanced 
hastily to the spot ; and indeed the devotion of Mon- 
treal had ever induced him to purchase the goodwill of 
whatever monastery neighboured his wandering home. 

“ My son,” said the eldest of the brethren, “ this is 
a strange spectacle, and a sacred : and when thou 
learnest all, thou wilt rather give the messenger a pass- 
port of safety from the unthinking courage of thy 
friends than intercept his path of peace.” 

“ Ye puzzle still more my simple brain,” said Mon- 
treal, impatiently, “ let the youth speak for himself ; 
I perceive that on his mantle are the arms of Rome 
blended with other quarterings, which are a mystery 
to me, — though sufficiently versed in heraldic art as 
befits a noble and a knight.” 

“ Signor,” said the youth, gravely, “ know in me 
the messenger of Cola di Rienzi, Tribune of Rome, 
charged with letters to many a baron and prince in 
the ways between Rome and Naples. The arms 
wrought upon my mantle are those of the Pontiff, the 
City, and the Tribune.” 

“ Umph ; thou must have bold nerves to traverse 
the Campagna with no other weapon than that stick 
of silver ! ” 


204 


RIENZI 


“ Thou art mistaken, Sir Knight,” replied the youth, 
boldly, “ and judgest of the present by the past ; know 
that not a single robber now lurks within the Cam- 
pagna, the arms of the Tribune have rendered every 
road around the city as secure as the broadest street 
of the city itself.” 

“ Thou tellest me wonders.” 

“ Through the forest — and in the fortress, — through 
the wildest solitudes, — through the most populous 
towns, — have my comrades borne this silver wand 
unmolested and unscathed; wherever we pass along, 
thousands hail us, and tears of joy bless the messen- 
gers of him who hath expelled the brigand from his 
hold, the tyrant from his castle, and ensured the gains 
of the merchant and the hut of the peasant.” 

“ Pardieu,” said Montreal, with a stern smile, “ I 
ought to be thankful for the preference shown to me ; 
I have not yet received the commands, nor felt the 
vengeance, of the Tribune ; yet, methinks, my humble 
castle lies just within the patrimony of St. Peter.” 

“ Pardon me, Signor Cavalier,” said the youth; “ but 
do I address the renowned Knight of St. John, war- 
rior of the Cross, yet leader of banditti ? ” 

“ Boy, you are bold ; I am Walter de Montreal.” 

“ I am bound, then, Sir Knight, to your castle.” 

“ Take care how thou reach it before me, or thou 
standest a fair chance of a quick exit. How now, my 
friends ! ” seeing that the crowd at these words gath- 
ered closer round the messenger, “ Think ye that I, 
who have my mate in kings, would find a victim in an 
unarmed boy? Fie! give way — give way. Young 
man, follow me homeward ; you are safe in my castle 
as in your mother’s arms.” So saying, Montreal, with 
great dignity and deliberate gravity, rode slowly 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 205 

towards his castle, his soldiers, wondering, at a little 
distance, and the white-robed messenger following 
with the crowd, who refused to depart; so great was 
their enthusiasm, that they even ascended to the gates 
of the dreaded castle, and insisted on waiting without 
until the return of the youth assured them of his 
safety. 

Montreal, who, however lawless elsewhere, strictly 
preserved the rights of the meanest boor in his imme- 
diate neighbourhood, and rather affected popularity 
with the poor, bade the crowd enter the court-yard, 
ordered his servitors to provide them with wine and 
refreshment, regaled the good monks in his great hall, 
and then led the way to a small room, where he re- 
ceived the messenger. 

“ This,” said the youth, “ will best explain my 
mission,” as he placed a letter before Montreal. 

The Knight cut the silk with his dagger, and read 
the epistle with great composure. 

“ Your Tribune,” said he, when he had finished it, 
“ has learned the laconic style of power very soon. 
He orders me to render this castle, and vacate the 
Papal territory within ten days. He is obliging; I 
must have breathing time to consider the proposal ; be 
seated, I pray you, young sir. Forgive me, but I 
should have imagined that your lord had enough upon 
his hands with his Roman barons, to make him a little 
more indulgent to us foreign visitors. Stephen 
Colonna ” 

“ Is returned to Rome, and has taken the oath of 
allegiance ; the Savelli, the Orsini, the Frangipani, 
have all subscribed their submission to the Buono 
Stato” 

“ How ! ” cried Montreal, in great surprise. 


206 


RIENZI 


“ Not only have they returned, but they have sub- 
mitted to the dispersion of all their mercenaries, and 
the dismantling of all their fortifications. The iron of 
the Orsini palace now barricades the Capitol, and the 
stonework of the Colonna and the Savelli has added 
new battlements to the gates of the Lateran and St. 
Laurence.” 

“ Wonderful man ! ” said Montreal, with reluctant 
admiration. “ By what means was this effected ? ” 

“ A stern command and a strong force to back it. 
At the first sound of the great bell, twenty thousand 
Romans rise in arms. What to such an army are the 
brigands of an Orsini or a Colonna? — Sir Knight, 
your valour and renown make even Rome admire 
you ; and I, a Roman, bid you beware.” 

“ Well, I thank thee — thy news, friend, robs me of 
breath, So the Barons submit, then ? ” 

“ Yes : on the first day, one of the Colonna, the Lord 
Adrian, took the oath ; within a week, Stephen, as- 
sured of safe conduct, left Palestrina, the Savelli in his 
train ; the Orsini followed — even Martino di Porto has 
silently succumbed.” 

“ The Tribune — but is that his dignity — methought 
he was to be king ” 

“ He was offered, and he refused, the title. His 
present rank, which arrogates no patrician honours, 
went far to conciliate the nobles.” 

“ A wise knave ! — I beg pardon, a sagacious prince ! 
— Well, then, the Tribune lords it mightily, I suppose, 
over the great Roman names ? ” 

“ Pardon me— he enforces impartial justice from 
peasant or patrician ; but he preserves to the nobles all 
their just privileges and legal rank.” 

" Ha ! — and the vain puppets, so they keep the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


20 7 


semblance, scarce miss the substance — I understand. 
But this shows genius— the Tribune is unwed, I think. 
Does he look among the Colonna for a wife ? ” 

“ Sir Knight, the Tribune is already married ; within 
three days after his ascension to power, he won and 
bore home the daughter of the Baron di Raselli. ,, 

“ Raselli ! no great name ; he might have done 
better.’' 

“ But it is said,” resumed the youth, smiling, “ that 
the Tribune will shortly be allied to the Colonna, 
through his fair sister the Signora Irene. The Baron 
di Castello woos her.” 

“ What, Adrian Colonna ! Enough ! you have con- 
vinced me that a man who contents the people and 
awes or conciliates the nobles is born for empire. 
My answer to this letter I will send myself. For your 
news, Sir Messenger, accept this jewel,” and the 
knight took from his finger a gem of some price. 
“ Nay, shrink not, it was as freely given to me as it 
is now to thee.” 

The youth, who had been agreeably surprised, and 
impressed, by the manner of the renowned freebooter, 
and who was not a little astonished himself with the 
ease and familiarity with which he had been relating 
to Fra Moreale, in his own fortress, the news of Rome, 
bowed low as he accepted the gift. 

The astute Provencal, who saw the evident impres- 
sion he had made, perceived also that it might be of ad- 
vantage in delaying the measures he might deem it ex- 
pedient to adopt. “ Assure the Tribune,” said he, on 
dismissing the messenger, “ shouldst thou return ere 
my letter arrive, that I admire his genius, hail his 
power, and will not fail to consider as favourably as I 
may of his demand.” 


208 


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“ Better,” said the messenger, warmly (he was of 
good blood, and gentle bearing), — “ better ten tyrants 
for our enemy, than one Montreal.” 

“ An enemy ! believe me, sir, I seek no enmity with 
princes who know how to govern, or a people that has 
the wisdom at once to rule and to obey. ,, 

The whole of that day, however, Montreal remained 
thoughtful and uneasy; he despatched trusty messen- 
gers to the Governor of Aquila (who was then in cor- 
respondence with Louis of Hungary), to Naples, and 
to Rome : — the last charged with a letter to the Trib- 
une, which, without absolutely compromising himself, 
affected submission, and demanded only a longer 
leisure for the preparations of departure. But, at the 
same time, fresh fortifications were added to the castle, 
ample provisions were laid in, and, night and day, 
spies and scouts were stationed along the pass, and in 
the town of Terracina. Montreal was precisely the 
chief who prepared most for war when most he pre- 
tended peace. 

One morning, the fifth from the appearance of the 
Roman messenger, Montreal, after narrowly survey- 
ing his outworks and his stores, and feeling satisfied 
that he could hold out at least a month’s siege, re- 
paired, with a gayer countenance than he had lately 
worn, to the chamber of Adeline. 

The lady was seated by the casement of the tower, 
from which might be seen the glorious landscape of 
woods, and vales, and orange groves — a strange gar- 
den for such a palace ! As she leant her face upon her 
hand, with her profile slightly turned to Montreal, 
there was something ineffably graceful in the bend of 
her neck, — the small head so expressive of gentle 
blood, — with the locks parted in front in that simple 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 209 

fashion which modern times have so happily revived. 
But the expression of the half-averted face, the ab- 
stracted intentness of the gaze, and the profound still- 
ness of the attitude, were so sad and mournful, that 
Montreal’s purposed greeting of gallantry and glad- 
ness died upon his lips. He approached in silence, 
and laid his hand upon her shoulder. 

Adeline turned, and taking the hand in hers, pressed 
it to her heart, and smiled away all her sadness. 
“ Dearest,” said Montreal, “ couldst thou know how 
much any shadow of grief on thy bright face darkens 
my heart, thou wouldst never grieve. But no wonder 
that in these rude walls — no female of equal rank near 
thee, and such mirth as Montreal can summon to his 
halls, grating to thy ear — no wonder that thou re- 
pentest thee of thy choice.” 

“ Ah, no — no, Walter, I never repent. I did but 
think of our child as you entered. Alas ! he was our 
only child! How fair he was, Walter; how he re- 
sembled thee ! ” 

“ Nay, he had thine eyes and brow,” replied the 
Knight, with a faltering voice, and turning away his 
head. 

“ Walter,” resumed the lady, sighing, “ do you 
remember? — this is his birthday. He is ten years 
old to-day. We have loved each other eleven years, 
and thou hast not tired yet of thy poor Ade- 
line.” 

“ As well might the saints weary of Paradise,” re- 
plied Montreal, with an enamoured tenderness, which 
changed into softness the whole character of his heroic 
countenance. 

“ Could I think so, I should indeed be blest ! ” 
answered Adeline. “ But a little while longer, and the 


14 


210 


RIENZI 


few charms I yet possess must fade; and what other 
claim have I on thee? ” 

“ All claim ; — the memory of thy first blushes — thy 
first kiss — of thy devoted sacrifices — of thy patient 
wanderings — of thy uncomplaining love ! Ah, Ade- 
line, we are of Provence, not of Italy ; and when did 
Knight of Provence avoid his foe, or forsake his love ? 
But enough, dearest, of home and melancholy for to- 
day. I come to bid thee forth. I have sent on the 
servitors to pitch our tent beside the sea, — we will 
enjoy the orange blossoms while we may. Ere an- 
other week pass over us, we may have sterner pastime 
and closer confines.” 

“ How, dearest Walter! thou dost not apprehend 
danger ? ” 

“ Thou speakest, lady-bird/’ said Montreal, laugh- 
ing, “ as if danger were novelty ; methinks by this 
time, thou shouldst know it as the atmosphere we 
breathe.” 

“ Ah, Walter, is this to last for ever? Thou art now 
rich and renowned ; canst thou not abandon this career 
of strife ? ” 

“ Now, out on thee, Adeline. What are riches and 
renown but the means to power! And for strife, the 
shield of warriors was my cradle — pray the saints it be 
my bier! These wild and wizard extremes of life — 
from the bower to the tent — from the cavern to the 
palace — to-day a wandering exile, to-morrow the 
equal of kings — make the true element of the chivalry 
of my Norman sires. Normandy taught me war, and 
sweet Provence love. Kiss me, dear Adeline; and 
now let thy handmaids attire thee. Forget not thy 
lute, sweet one. We will rouse the echoes with the 
songs of Provence.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 21 1 

The ductile temper of Adeline yielded easily to the 
gaiety of her lord ; and the party soon sallied from the 
castle towards the spot in which Montreal had de- 
signed their resting-place during the heats of day. 
But already prepared for all surprise, the castle was 
left strictly guarded, and besides the domestic servi- 
tors of the castle, a detachment of ten soldiers, com- 
pletely armed, accompanied the lovers. Montreal him- 
self wore his corselet, and his ’squires followed with 
his helmet and lance. Beyond the narrow defile at 
the base of the castle, the road at that day opened into 
a broad patch of verdure, circled on all aides, save that 
open to the sea, by wood, interspersed with myrtle and 
orange, and a wilderness of odorous shrubs. In this 
space, and sheltered by the broad-spreading and 
classic fagus (so improperly translated into the 
English beech), a gay pavilion was prepared, which 
commanded the view of the sparkling sea; — shaded 
from the sun, but open to the gentle breeze. This was 
poor Adeline’s favourite recreation, if recreation it 
might be called. She rejoiced to escape from the 
gloomy walls of her castellated prison, and to enjoy 
the sunshine and the sweets of that voluptuous climate 
without the fatigue which of late all exercise occa- 
sioned her. It was a gallantry on the part of Mon- 
treal, who foresaw how short an interval might elapse 
before the troops of Rienzi besieged his walls; and 
who was himself no less at home in the bower than in 
the field. 

As they reclined within the pavilion — the lover and 
his lady, — of the attendants without, some lounged 
idly on the beach ; some prepared the awning of a 
pleasure-boat against the decline of the sun ; some, in 
a ruder tent, out of sight in the wood, arranged the 


212 


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mid-day repast ; while the strings of the lute, touched 
by Montreal himself with a careless skill, gave their 
music to the dreamy stillness of the noon. 

While thus employed, one of Montreal’s scouts ar- 
rived breathless and heated at the tent. 

“ Captain,” said he, “ a company of thirty lances 
completely armed, with a long retinue of ’squires and 
pages, have just quitted Terracina. Their banners 
bear the two-fold insignia of Rome and the Colonna.” 

“ Ho ! ” said Montreal, gaily, “ such a troop is a 
welcome addition to our company; send our ’squire 
hither.” 

The ’squire appeared. 

“ Hie thee on thy steed towards the procession thou 
wilt meet with in the pass, (nay, sweet lady mine, no 
forbiddal !) seek the chief, and say that the good 
Knight Walter de Montreal sends him greeting, and 
prays him, in passing our proper territory, to rest 
awhile with us a welcome guest ; and — stay, — add, that 
if to while an hour or so in gentle pastime be ac- 
ceptable to him, Walter de Montreal would rejoice to 
break a lance with him, or any knight in his train, in 
honour of our respective ladies. Hie thee quick ! ” 

“ Walter, Walter,” began Adeline, who had that 
keen and delicate sensitiveness to her situation, which 
her reckless lord often wantonly forgot ; “ Walter, dear 
Walter, canst thou think it honour to ” 

“ Hush thee, sweet Fleur de lis! Thou hast not seen 
pastime this many a day ; I long to convince thee that 
thou art still the fairest lady in Italy — ay, and of 
Christendom. But these Italians are craven knights, 
and thou needst not fear that my proffer will be ac- 
cepted. But in truth, lady mine, I rejoice for graver 
objects, that chance throws a Roman noble, perhaps 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


213 


a Colonna, in my way ; — women understand not these 
matters'; and aught concerning Rome touches us home 
at this moment.” 

With that the Knight frowned, as was his wont in 
thought, and Adeline ventured to say no more, but 
retired to the interior division of the pavilion. 

Meanwhile the ’squire approached the procession 
that had now reached the middle of the pass. And a 
stately and gallant company it was : — if the complete 
harness of the soldiery seemed to attest a warlike pur- 
pose, it was contradicted on the other hand by a 
numerous train of unarmed ’squires and pages gor- 
geously attired, while the splendid blazon of two her- 
alds preceding the standard-bearers, proclaimed their 
object as peaceful, and their path as sacred. It re- 
quired but a glance at the company to tell the leader. 
Arrayed in a breastplate of steel, wrought profusely 
with gold arabesques, over which was a mantle of 
dark-green velvet, bordered with pearls, while above 
his long dark locks waved a black ostrich plume in a 
high Macedonian cap, such as, I believe, is now worn 
by the Grand Master of the order of St. Constantine, 
rode in the front of the party, a young cavalier, dis- 
tinguished from his immediate comrades, partly by his 
graceful presence and partly by his splendid dress. 

The ’squire approached respectfully, and dismount- 
ing, delivered himself of his charge. 

The young cavalier smiled, as he answered, “ Bear 
back to Sir Walter de Montreal the greeting of Adrian 
Colonna, Baron di Castello, and say, the solemn object 
of my present journey will scarce permit me to en- 
counter the formidable lance of so celebrated a knight ; 
and I regret this the more, inasmuch as I may not yield 
to any dame the palm of my liege lady’s beauty. I 


214 


RIENZI 


must live in hope of a happier occasion. For the rest, 
I will cheerfully abide for some few hours the guest 
of so courteous a host.” 

The ’squire bowed low. “ My master,” said he, 
hesitatingly, “ will grieve much to miss so noble an 
opponent. But my message refers to all this knightly 
and gallant train ; and if the Lord Adrian di Castello 
deems himself forbidden the joust by the object of his 
present journey, surely one of his comrades will be 
his proxy with my master.” 

Out and quickly spoke a young noble by the side 
of Adrian, Riccardo Annibaldi, who afterwards did 
good service both to the Tribune and to Rome, and 
whose valour brought him, in later life, to an untimely 
end. 

“ By the Lord Adrian’s permission,” cried he, “ I 
will break a lance with ” 

“ Hush ! Annibaldi,” interrupted Adrian. “ And 
you, Sir ’Squire, know, that Adrian di Castello per- 
mits no proxy in arms. Avise the Knight of St. John 
that we accept his hospitality, and if, after some con- 
verse on graver matters, he should still desire so light 
an entertainment, I will forget that I am the ambassa- 
dor to Naples, and remember only that I am a Knight 
of the Empire. You have your answer.” 

The ’squire with much ceremony made his obei- 
sance, remounted his steed, and returned in a half- 
gallop to his master. 

“ Forgive me, dear Annibaldi,” said Adrian, “ that 
I balked your valour; and believe me that I never 
more longed to break a lance against any man than 
I do against this boasting Frenchman. But bethink 
you, that though to us, brought up in the dainty laws 
of chivalry, Walter de Montreal is the famous Knight 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 215 

of Provence, to the Tribune of Rome, whose grave 
mission we now fulfil, he is but the mercenary captain 
of a Free Company. Grievously in his eyes should 
we sully our dignity by so wanton and irrelevant a 
holiday conflict with a declared and professional 
brigand.” 

“ For all that,” said Annibaldi, “ the brigand ought 
not to boast that a Roman knight shunned a Provencal 
lance.” 

“ Cease, I pray thee ! ” said Adrian, impatiently. In 
fact, the young Colonna, already chafed bitterly against 
his discreet and dignified rejection of Montreal’s prof- 
fer, and recollecting with much pique the disparaging 
manner in which the Provencal had spoken of the 
Roman chivalry, as well as a certain tone of supe- 
riority, which in all warlike matters Montreal had as- 
sumed over him, — he now felt his cheek burn, and 
his lip quiver. Highly skilled in the martial accom- 
plishments of his time, he had a natural and excusable 
desire to prove that he was at least no unworthy an- 
tagonist even of the best lance in Italy : and, added to 
this, the gallantry of the age made him feel it a sort 
of treason to his mistress to forego any means of assert- 
ing her perfections. 

It was, therefore, with considerable irritation that 
Adrian, as the pavilion of Montreal became visible, 
perceived the ’squire returning to him. And the 
reader will judge how much this was increased when 
the latter, once more dismounting, accosted him thus : 

“ My master, the Knight of St. John, on hearing 
the courteous answer of the Lord Adrian di Castello, 
bids me say, that lest the graver converse the Lord 
Adrian refers to should mar gentle and friendly sport, 
he ventures respectfully to suggest, that the tilt should 


2l6 


RIENZI 


preface the converse. The sod before the tent is so 
soft and smooth, that even a fall could be attended with 
no danger to knight or steed.” 

“ By our Lady ! ” cried Adrian and Annibaldi in a 
breath, “ but thy last words are discourteous ; and ” 
(proceeded Adrian, recovering himself) “ since thy 
master will have it so, let him look to his horse’s girths. 
I will not gainsay his fancy.” 

Montreal, who had thus insisted upon the exhibi- 
tion, partly, it may be, from the gay and ruffling 
bravado, common still amongst his brave countrymen ; 
partly because he was curious of exhibiting before 
those who might soon be his open foes his singular 
and unrivalled address in arms, was yet more moved 
to it on learning the name of the leader of the Roman 
Company; for his vain and haughty spirit, however it 
had disguised resentment at the time, had by no means 
forgiven certain warm expressions of Adrian in the 
palace of Stephen Colonna, and in the unfortunate 
journey to Corneto. While Adrian, halting at the en- 
trance of the defile, aided by his ’squires, indignantly, 
but carefully, indued the rest of his armour, and saw, 
himself, to the girths, stirrup-leathers, and various 
buckles in the caparison of his noble charger, Mon- 
treal in great glee kissed his lady, who, though too soft 
to be angry, was deeply vexed, (and yet her vexation 
half forgotten in fear for his safety,) snatched up her 
scarf of blue, which he threw over his breastplate, and 
completed his array with the indifference of a man 
certain of victory. He was destined, however, to one 
disadvantage, and that the greatest ; his armour and 
lance had been brought from the castle — not his war- 
horse. His palfrey was too slight to bear the great 
weight of his armour, nor amongst his troop was there 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 217 

one horse that for power and bone could match with 
Adrian’s. He chose, however, the strongest that was 
at hand, and a loud shout from his wild followers tes- 
tified their admiration when he sprung unaided from 
the ground into the saddle — a rare and difficult feat 
of agility in a man completely arrayed in the pon- 
derous armour which issued at that day from the 
forges of Milan, and was worn far more weighty in 
Italy than any other part of Europe. While both 
companies grouped slowly, and mingled in a kind of 
circle round the green turf, and the Roman heralds, 
with bustling importance, attempted to marshal the 
spectators into order, Montreal rode his charger round 
the sward, forcing it into various caracoles, and exhib- 
iting, with the vanity that belonged to him, his ex- 
quisite and practised horsemanship. 

At length, Adrian, his visor down, rode slowly into 
the green space, amidst the cheers of his party. The 
two Knights, at either end, gravely fronted each other ; 
they made the courtesies with their lances, which, in 
friendly and sportive encounters, were customary ,* 
and, as they thus paused for the signal of encounter, 
the Italians trembled for the honour of their chief : 
Montreal’s stately height and girth of chest forming 
a strong contrast, even in armour, to the form of his 
opponent, which was rather under the middle standard, 
and though firmly knit, slightly and slenderly built. 
But to that perfection was skill in arms brought in 
those times, that great strength and size were far from 
being either the absolute requisites, or even the usual 
attributes, of the more celebrated knights ; in fact, so 
much was effected by the power and the management 
of the steed, that a light weight in the rider was often 
rather to his advantage than his prejudice : and, even 


218 


RIENZI 


at a later period, the most accomplished victors in the 
tourney, the French Bayard and the English Sydney, 
were far from remarkable either for bulk or stature. 

Whatever the superiority of Montreal in physical 
power, was, in much, counterbalanced by the in- 
feriority of his horse, which, though a thick-built and 
strong Calabrian, had neither the blood, bone, nor 
practised discipline of the northern charger of the 
Roman. The shining coat of the latter, coal black, 
was set off by a scarlet cloth wrought in gold; the 
neck and shoulders were clad in scales of mail; and 
from the forehead projected a long point, like the horn 
of an unicorn, while on its crest waved a tall plume of 
scarlet and white feathers. As the mission of Adrian 
to Naples was that of pomp and ceremony to a court 
of great splendour, so his array and retinue were 
befitting the occasion and the passion for show that 
belonged to the time : and the very bridle of his horse, 
which was three inches broad, was decorated with 
gold, and even jewels. The Knight himself was clad 
in mail, which had tested the finest art of the cele- 
brated Ludovico of Milan ; and, altogether, his appear- 
ance was unusually gallant and splendid, and seemed 
still more so beside the plain but brightly polished and 
artfully flexile armour of Montreal, (adorned only with 
his lady’s scarf,) and the common and rude mail of 
his charger. This contrast, however, was not wel- 
come to the Provencal, whose vanity was especially 
indulged in warlike equipments; and who, had he 
foreseen the “ pastime ” that awaited him, would have 
outshone even the Colonna. 

The trumpeters of either party gave a short blast — 
the Knights remained erect as statues of iron ; a 
second, and each slightly bent over his saddle-bow; 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 219 

a third, and with spears couched, and slackened reins, 
and at full speed, on they rushed, and fiercely they met 
midway. With the reckless arrogance which belonged 
to him, Montreal had imagined, that at the first touch 
of his lance Adrian would have been unhorsed ; but to 
his great surprise the young Roman remained firm, 
and amidst the shouts of his party, passed on to the 
other end of the lists. Montreal himself was rudely 
shaken, but lost neither seat nor stirrup. 

“ This can be no carpet knight,” muttered Montreal 
between his teeth, as, this time, he summoned all his 
skill for a second encounter; while Adrian, aware of 
the great superiority of his charger, resolved to bring 
it to bear against his opponent. Accordingly, when 
the Knights again rushed forward, Adrian, covering 
himself well with his buckler, directed his care less 
against the combatant, whom he felt no lance wielded 
by mortal hand was likely to dislodge, than against the 
less noble animal he bestrode. The shock of Mon- 
treal's charge was like an avalanche — his lance shiv- 
ered into a thousand pieces. Adrian lost both stir- 
rups, and but for the strong iron bows which guarded 
the saddle in front and rear, would have been fairly 
unhorsed ; as it was, he was almost doubled back by 
the encounter, and his ears rung and his eyes reeled, 
so that for a moment or two he almost lost all con- 
sciousness. But his steed had well repaid its nurture 
and discipline. Just as the combatants closed, the 
animal, rearing on high, pressed forward with its 
mighty crest against its opponent with a force so irre- 
sistible as to drive back Montreal’s horse several 
paces: while Adrian’s lance, poised with exquisite 
skill, striking against the Provencal’s helmet, some- 
what rudely diverted the Knight’s attention for the 


220 


RIENZI 


moment from his rein. Montreal, drawing the curb 
too tightly in the suddenness of his recovery, the horse 
reared on end ; and, receiving at that instant, full upon 
his breastplate, the sharp horn and mailed crest of 
Adrian’s charger — fell back over its rider upon the 
sward. Montreal disencumbered himself in great rage 
and shame, as a faint cry from his pavilion reached his 
ear, and redoubled his mortification. He rose with a 
lightness which astonished the beholders ; for so heavy 
was the armour worn at that day, that few knights 
once stretched upon the ground could rise without as- 
sistance; and drawing his sword, cried out fiercely — 
“ On foot, on foot ! — the fall was not mine, but this 
accursed beast’s, that I must needs for my sins raise 
to the rank of a charger. Come on ” 

“ Nay, Sir Knight,” said Adrian, drawing off his 
gauntlets and unbuckling his helmet, which he threw 
on the ground. “ I come to thee a guest and a friend ; 
but to fight on foot is the encounter of mortal foes. 
Did I accept thy offer, my defeat would but stain thy 
knighthood.” 

Montreal, whose passion had beguiled him for the 
moment, sullenly acquiesced in this reasoning. Adrian 
hastened to soothe his antagonist. “ For the rest,” 
said he, “ I cannot pretend to the prize. Your lance 
lost me my stirrups — mine left you unshaken. You 
say right ! the defeat, if any, was that of your steed.” 

“We may meet again when I am more equally 
horsed,” said Montreal, still chafing. 

“ Now, our Lady forbid ! ” exclaimed Adrian, with 
so devout an earnestness that the bystanders could not 
refrain from laughing ; and even Montreal grimly and 
half-reluctantly joined in the merriment. The cour- 
tesy of his foe, however, conciliated and touched the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 221 

more frank and soldierly qualities of his nature, and 
composing himself, he replied : — 

“ Signor di Castello, I rest your debtor for a cour- 
tesy that I have but little imitated. Howbeit, if thou 
wouldst bind me to thee for ever, thou wilt suffer me 
to send for my own charger, and afford me a chance 
to retrieve mine honour. With that steed, or with one 
equal to thine, which seems to me of the English 
breed, I will gage all I possess, lands, castle, and gold, 
sword and spurs, to maintain this pass, one by one, 
against all thy train.” 

Fortunately, perhaps, for Adrian, ere he could reply, 
Riccardo Annibaldi cried, with great warmth, “ Sir 
Knight, I have with me two steeds well practised in 
the tourney; take thy choice, and accept in me a 
champion of the Roman against the French chivalry; 
— there is my gage.” 

“ Signor,” replied Montreal, with ill-suppressed de- 
light, “ thy proffer shows so gallant and free a spirit, 
that it were foul sin in me to balk it. I accept thy 
gage, and whichever of thy steeds thou rejectest, in 
God’s name bring it hither, and let us waste no words 
before action.” 

Adrian, who felt that hitherto the Romans had been 
more favoured by fortune than merit, vainly endeav- 
oured to prevent this second hazard. But Annibaldi 
was greatly chafed, and his high rank rendered it im- 
politic in Adrian to offend him by peremptory prohibi- 
tion ; the Colonna reluctantly, therefore, yielded his as- 
sent to the engagement. Annibaldi’s steeds were led to 
the spot, the one a noble roan, the other a bay, of some- 
what less breeding and bone, but still of great strength 
and price. Montreal finding the choice pressed upon 
him, gallantly selected the latter and less excellent. 


222 


RIENZI 


Annibaldi was soon arrayed for the encounter, and 
Adrian gave the word to the trumpeters. The Ro- 
man was of a stature almost equal to that of Montreal, 
and though some years younger, seemed, in his 
armour, nearly of the same thews and girth, so that the 
present antagonists appeared at the first glance more 
evenly matched than the last. But this time Mon- 
treal, well horsed, inspired to the utmost by shame 
and pride, felt himself a match for an army; and he 
met the young Baron with such prowess, that while 
the very plume on his casque seemed scarcely stirred, 
the Italian was thrown several paces from his steed, 
and it was not till some moments after his visor was 
removed by his ’squires that he recovered his senses. 
This event restored Montreal to all his natural gaiety 
of humour, and effectually raised the spirits of his fol- 
lowers, who had felt much humbled by the previous 
encounter. 

He himself assisted Annibaldi to rise with great 
courtesy, and a profusion of compliments, which the 
proud Roman took in stern silence, and then led the 
way to the pavilion, loudly ordering the banquet to 
be spread. Annibaldi, however, loitered behind, and 
Adrian, who penetrated his thoughts, and who saw 
that over their cups a quarrel between the Provenqal 
and his friend was likely to ensue, drawing him aside, 
said : — “ Methinks, dear Annibaldi, it would be bet- 
ter, if you, with the chief of our following, were to 
proceed onward to Fondi, where I will join you at 
sunset. My ’squires, and some eight lances, will suf- 
fice for my safeguard here ; and, to say truth, I de- 
sire a few private words with our strange host, in 
the hope that he may be peaceably induced to with- 
draw from hence without the help of our Roman 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 223 

troops, who have enough elsewhere to feed their 
valour.” 

Annibaldi pressed his companion’s hand : “ I under- 
stand thee,” he replied with a slight blush, “ and, in- 
deed, I could but ill brook the complacent triumph of 
the barbarian. I accept thy offer.” 


CHAPTER III 

THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE ROMAN AND THE 

Provencal — Adeline’s history — the moonlit 

SEA — THE LUTE AND THE SONG 

As soon as Annibaldi, with the greater part of the 
retinue, was gone, Adrian, divesting himself of his 
heavy greaves, entered alone the pavilion of the 
Knight of St. John. Montreal had already doffed all 
his armour, save the breastplate, and he now stepped 
forward to welcome his guest with the winning and 
easy grace which better suited his birth than his pro- 
fession. He received Adrian’s excuses for the absence 
of Annibaldi and the other knights of his train with a 
smile which seemed to prove how readily he divined 
the cause, and conducted him to the other and more 
private division of the pavilion in which the repast 
(rendered acceptable by the late exercise of guest and 
host) was prepared ; and here Adrian for the first time 
discovered Adeline. Long inurement to the various 
and roving life of her lover, joined to a certain pride 
which she derived from conscious, though forfeited, 
rank, gave to the outward manner of that beautiful 
lady an ease and freedom which often concealed, even 


224 


RIENZI 


from Montreal, her sensitiveness to her unhappy situa- 
tion. At times, indeed, when alone with Montreal, 
whom she loved with all the devotion of romance, she 
was sensible only to the charm of a presence which 
consoled her for all things ; but in his frequent absence, 
or on the admission of any stranger, the illusion van- 
ished — the reality returned. Poor lady ! Nature had 
not formed, education had not reared, habit had not 
reconciled, her to the breath of shame ! 

The young Colonna was much struck by her beauty, 
and more by her gentle and high-born grace. Like 
her lord she appeared younger than she was ; time 
seemed to spare a bloom which an experienced eye 
might have told was destined to an early grave; and 
there was something almost girlish in the lightness 
of her form — the braided luxuriance of her rich auburn 
hair, and the colour that went and came, not only 
with every movement, but almost with every word. 
The contrast between her and Montreal became them 
both — it was the contrast of devoted reliance and pro- 
tecting strength : each looked fairer in the presence of 
the other; and as Adrian sate down to the well-laden 
board, he thought he had never seen a pair more 
formed for the poetic legends of their native Trouba- 
dours. 

Montreal conversed gaily upon a thousand matters 
— pressed the wine flasks — and selected for his guest 
the most delicate portions of the delicious spicola of the 
neighbouring sea, and the rich flesh of the wild boar 
of the Pontine Marshes. 

“ Tell me,” said Montreal, as their hunger was now 
appeased — “ tell me, noble Adrian, how fares your 
kinsman, Signor Stephen? A brave old man for his 
years.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 225 

“ He bears him as the youngest of us,” answered 
Adrian. 

“ Late events must have shocked him a little,” said 
Montreal, with an arch smile. “ Ah, you look grave 
— yet commend my foresight; — I was the first who 
prophesied to thy kinsman the rise of Cola di Rienzi ; 
he seems a great man — never more great than in con- 
ciliating the Colonna and the Orsini.” 

“ The Tribune,” returned Adrian, evasively, “ is cer- 
tainly a man of extraordinary genius. And now, see- 
ing him command, my only wonder is how he ever 
brooked to obey — majesty seems a very part of him.” 

“ Men who win power, easily put on its harness, 
dignity,” answered Montreal ; “ and if I hear aright — 
(pledge me to your lady’s health) — the Tribune, if not 
himself nobly born, will soon be nobly connected.” 

“ He is already married to a Raselli, an old Roman 
house,” replied Adrian. 

“ You evade my pursuit, — Le doulx soupir! le doulx 
soupir ! as the old Cabestan has it ” — said Montreal, 
laughing. “ Well, you have pledged me one cup to 
your lady, pledge another to the fair Irene, the Trib- 
une’s sister — always provided they two are not one. — 
You smile and shake your head.” 

“ I do not disguise from you, Sir Knight,” answered 
Adrian, “that when my present embassy is over, I 
trust the alliance between the Tribune and a Colonna 
will go far towards the benefit of both.” 

“ I have heard rightly, then,” said Montreal, in a 
grave and thoughtful tone. “ Rienzi’s power must, 
indeed, be great.” 

“ Of that my mission is a proof. Are you aware, 
Signor de Montreal, that Louis, King of Hun- 
gary ” 


15 


226 


RIENZI 


“ How ! what of him ? ” 

“ Has referred the decision of the feud between him- 
self and Joanna of Naples, respecting the death of her 
royal spouse, his brother, to the fiat of the Tribune? 
This is the first time, methinks, since the death of Con- 
stantine, that so great a confidence and so high a 
charge were ever intrusted to a Roman ! ” 

“ By all the saints in the calendar,” cried Montreal, 
crossing himself, “ this news is indeed amazing ! The 
fierce Louis of Hungary waive the right of the sword, 
and choose other umpire than the field of battle ! ” 

“ And this,” continued Adrian, in a significant tone, 
“ this it was which induced me to obey your courteous 
summons. I know, brave Montreal, that you hold in- 
tercourse with Louis. Louis has given to the Tribune 
the best pledge of his amity and alliance ; will you do 
wisely if you ” 

“ Wage war with the Hungarian’s ally,” interrupted 
Montreal. “ This you were about to add ; the same 
thought crossed myself. My Lord, pardon me — 
Italians sometimes invent what they wish. On the 
honour of a Knight of the Empire, these tidings are 
the naked truth ? ” 

“ By my honour, and on the Cross,” answered 
Adrian, drawing himself up ; “ and in proof thereof, I 
am now bound to Naples to settle with the Queen the 
preliminaries of the appointed trial.” 

“ Two crowned heads before the tribunal of a ple- 
beian, and one a defendant against the charge of 
murther ! ” muttered Montreal ; “ the news might well 
amaze me ! ” 

He remained musing and silent a little while, till 
looking up, he caught Adeline’s tender gaze fixed 
upon him with that deep solicitude with which she 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 227 

watched the outward effect of schemes and projects 
she was too soft to desire to know, and too innocent to 
share. 

“ Lady mine” said the Provencal, fondly, “ how- 
sayest thou? must we abandon our mountain castle, 
and these wild woodland scenes, for the dull walls of 
a city? I fear me so. — The Lady Adeline/’ he con- 
tinued, turning to Adrian, “ is of a singular bias ; she 
hates the gay crowds of streets and thoroughfares, and 
esteems no palace like the solitary outlaw’s hold. Yet, 
methinks, she might outshine all the faces of Italy, — 
thy mistress, Lord Adrian, of course, excepted.” 

“ It is an exception which only a lover, and that too 
a betrothed lover, would dare to make,” replied 
Adrian, gallantly. 

“ Nay,” said Adeline, in a voice singularly sweet 
and clear, “ nay, I know well at what price to value 
my lord’s flattery, and Signor di Castello’s courtesy. 
But you are bound, Sir Knight, to a court, that, if fame 
speak true, boasts in its Queen the very miracle and 
mould of beauty.” 

“ It is some years since I saw the Queen of Naples,” 
answered Adrian ; “ and I little dreamed then, when I 
gazed upon that angel face, that I should live to hear 
her accused of the foulest murther that ever stained 
even Italian royalty.” 

“ And, as if resolved to prove her guilt,” said 
Montreal, “ ere long be sure she will marry the 
very man who did the deed. Of this I have certain 
proof.” 

Thus conversing, the Knights wore away the day- 
light, and beheld from the open tent the sun cast his 
setting glow over the purple sea. Adeline had long 
retired from the board, and they now saw her seated 


228 


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with her handmaids on a mound by the beach ; while 
the sound of her lute faintly reached their ears. As 
Montreal caught the air, he turned from the converse, 
and sighing, half shaded his face with his hand. Some- 
how or other the two .Knights had worn away all the 
little jealousy or pique which they had conceived 
against each other at Rome. Both imbued with the 
soldier-like spirit of the age, their contest in the morn- 
ing had served to inspire them with that strange kind 
of respect, and even cordiality, which one brave man 
even still (how much more at that day!) feels for an- 
other, whose courage he has proved while vindicating 
his own. It is like the discovery of a congenial senti- 
ment hitherto latent ; and, in a life of camps, often 
establishes sudden and lasting friendship in the very 
lap of enmity. This feeling had been ripened by their 
subsequent familiar intercourse, and was increased on 
Adrian’s side by the feeling, that in convincing Mon- 
treal of the policy of withdrawing from the Roman ter- 
ritories, he had obtained an advantage that well repaid 
whatever danger and delay he had undergone. 

The sigh, and the altered manner of Montreal, did 
not escape Adrian, and he naturally connected it with 
something relating to her whose music had been its 
evident cause. 

“ Yon lovely dame,” said he, gently, “ touches the 
lute with an exquisite and fairy hand, and that plain- 
tive air seems to my ear as of the minstrelsy of Pro- 
vence.” 

“ It is the air I taught her,” said Montreal, sadly, 
“ married as it is to indifferent words, with which I 
first wooed a heart that should never have given itself 
to me! Ay, young Colonna, many a night has my 
boat been moored beneath the starlit Sorgia that 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 229 

washes her proud father’s halls, and my voice awaked 
the stillness of the waving sedges with a soldier’s ser- 
enade. Sweet memories ! bitter fruit ! ” 

“ Why bitter? ye love each other still.” 

“ But I am vowed to celibacy, and Adeline de Cour- 
val is leman where she should be wedded dame. Me- 
thinks I fret at that thought even more than she, — 
dear Adeline ! ” 

“ Your lady, as all would guess, is then nobly 
born?” 

“ She is,” answered Montreal, with a deep and evi- 
dent feeling which, save in love, rarely, if ever, crossed 
his hardy breast. “ She is ! our tale is a brief one : — 
we loved each other as children : Her family was 
wealthier than mine : We were separated. I was 
given to understand that she abandoned me. I de- 
spaired, and in despair I took the cross of St. John. 
Chance threw us again together. I learned that her 
love was undecayed. Poor child ! — she was even then, 
sir, but a child ! I, wild — reckless — and not unskilled, 
perhaps, in the arts that woo and win. She could not 
resist my suit or her own affection ! — We fled. In 
those words you see the thread of my after history. 
My sword and my Adeline were all my fortune. So- 
ciety frowned on us. The Church threatened my soul. 
The Grand Master my life. I became a knight of for- 
tune. Fate and my right hand favoured me. I have 
made those who scorned me tremble at my name. 
That name shall yet blaze, a star or a meteor, in the 
front of troubled nations, and I may yet win by force 
from the Pontiff the dispensation refused to my 
prayers. On the same day, I may offer Adeline the 
diadem and the ring. — Eno’ of this;— you marked 
Adeline’s cheek! — Seems it not delicate? I like not 


230 


RIENZI 


that changeful flush, — and she moves languidly, — her 
step that was so blithe ! ” 

“ Change of scene and the mild south will soon 
restore her health,” said Adrian ; “ and in your peculiar 
life she is so little brought in contact with others, 
especially of her own sex, that I trust she is but seldom 
made aware of whatever is painful in her situation. 
And woman’s love, Montreal, as we both have learned, 
is a robe that wraps her from many a storm ! ” 

“You speak kindly,” returned the Knight; “but 
you know not all our cause of grief. Adeline’s father, 
a proud sieur, died, — they said of a broken heart, — but 
old men die of many another disease than that ! The 
mother, a dame who boasted her descent from princes, 
bore the matter more sternly than the sire ; clamoured 
for revenge, — which was odd, for she is as religious as 
a Dominican, and revenge is not Christian in a woman, 
though it is knightly in a man! — Well, my Lord, we 
had one boy, our only child ; he was Adeline’s solace 
in my absence, — his pretty ways were worth the world 
to her! She loved him so, that, but he had her eyes 
and looked like her when he slept, I should have been 
jealous! He grew up in our wild life, strong and 
comely ; the young rogue, he would have been a brave 
knight! My evil stars led me to Milan, where I had 
business with the Visconti. One bright morning in 
June, our boy was stolen ; verily that June was like a 
December to us ! ” 

“ Stolen ! — how ? — by whom ? ” 

“ The first question is answered easily, — the boy was 
with his nurse in the court-yard, the idle wench left him 
for but a minute or two — so she avers — to fetch him 
some childish toy ; when she returned he was gone ; 
not a trace left, save his pretty cap with the plume in 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


231 

it ! Poor Adeline, many a time have I found her kiss- 
ing that relic till it was wet with tears ! ” 

“ A strange fortune, in truth. But what interest 
could ” 

“ I will tell you,” interrupted Montreal, “ the only 
conjecture I could form ; — Adeline’s mother, on learn- 
ing we had a son, sent to Adeline a letter, that well- 
nigh broke her heart, reproaching her for her love to 
me, and so forth, as if that had made her the vilest 
of the sex. She bade her take compassion on her 
child, and not bring him up to a robber’s life, — so was 
she pleased to style the bold career of Walter de Mon- 
treal. She offered to rear the child in her own dull 
halls, and fit him, no doubt, for a shaven pate and a 
monk’s cowl. She chafed much that a mother would 
not part with her treasure ! She alone, partly in re- 
venge, partly in silly compassion for Adeline’s child, 
partly, it may be, from some pious fanaticism, could, 
it so seemed to me, have robbed us of our boy. On 
inquiry, I learned from the nurse — who, but that she 
was of the same sex as Adeline, should have tasted 
my dagger, — that in their walks, a woman of advanced 
years, but seemingly of humble rank, (that might be 
disguise !) had often stopped, and caressed and ad- 
mired the child. I repaired at once to France, sought 
the old Castle of De Courval ; — it had passed to the 
next heir, and the old widow was gone, none knew 
whither, but, it was conjectured, to take the veil in 
some remote convent:” 

“ And you never saw her since ? ” 

“ Yes, at Rome,” answered Montreal, turning pale; 
“ when last there I chanced suddenly upon her ; and 
then at length I learned my boy’s fate, and the truth 
of my own surmise; she confessed to the theft — and 


232 


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my child was dead ! I have not dared to tell Adeline 
of this ; it seems to me as if it would be like plucking 
the shaft from the wounded side — and she would die 
at once, bereft of the uncertainty that rankles within 
her. She has still a hope — it comforts her; though 
my heart bleeds when I think on its vanity. Let this 
pass, my Colonna.” 

And Montreal started to his feet as if he strove, by 
a strong effort, to shake off the weakness that had 
crept over him in his narration. 

“ Think no more of it. Life is short — its thorns are 
many — let us not neglect any of its flowers. This is 
piety and wisdom too ; Nature that meant me to strug- 
gle and to toil, gave me, happily, the sanguine heart 
and the elastic soul of France; and I have lived long 
enough to own that to die young is not an evil. Come, 
Lord Adrian, let us join my lady ere you part, if part 
you must ; the moon will be up soon, and Fondi is but 
a short journey hence. You know that though I ad- 
mire not your Petrarch, you with more courtesy laud 
our Provengal ballads, and you must hear Adeline 
sing one that you may prize them the more. The race 
of the Troubadours is dead, but the minstrelsy sur- 
vives the minstrel ! ” 

Adrian, who scarce knew what comfort to admin- 
ister to the affliction of his companion, was somewhat 
relieved by the change in his mood, though his more 
grave and sensitive nature was a little startled at its 
suddenness. But, as we have before seen, Montreal’s 
spirit (and this made perhaps its fascination) was as a 
varying and changeful sky ; the gayest sunshine, and 
the fiercest storm swept over it in rapid alternation ; 
and elements of singular might and grandeur, which, 
1 properly directed and concentrated, would have made 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 233 


him the blessing and glory of his time, were wielded 
with a boyish levity, roused into war and desolation, 
or lulled into repose and smoothness, with all the sud- 
denness of chance, and all the fickleness of caprice. 

Sauntering down to the beach, the music of Ade- 
line’s lute sounded more distinctly in their ears, and 
involuntarily they hushed their steps upon the rich and 
odorous turf, as in a voice, though not powerful, mar- 
vellously sweet and clear, and well adapted to the sim- 
ple fashion of the words and melody, she sang the 
following stanzas : — 

LAY OF THE LADY OF PROVENCE 
1 

Ah, why art thou sad, my heart? Why 
Darksome and lonely? 

Frowns the face of the happy sky 
Over thee only? 

Ah me, ah me! 

Render to joy the earth! 

Grief shuns, not envies, Mirth; 

But leave one quiet spot, 

Where Mirth may enter not, 

To sigh, Ah me! — 

Ah me! 


2 

As a bird, though the sky be clear, 
Feels the storm lower; 

My soul bodes the tempest near 
In the sunny hour; 

Ah me, ah me! 
Be glad while yet we may! 

I bid thee, my heart, be gay; 
And still I know not why, — 
Thou answerest with a sigh, 
(Fond heart!) Ah me! — 
Ah me! 


234 


RIENZI 


3 

As this twilight o’er the skies. 

Doubt brings the sorrow; 

Who knows when the daylight dies. 

What waits the morrow? 

Ah me, ah me! 

Be blithe, be blithe, my lute, 

Thy strings will soon be mute; 

Be blithe — hark! while it dies, 

The note forewarning, sighs 
Its last — Ah me! — 

Ah me! 

“ My own Adeline — my sweetest night-bird,” half- 
whispered Montreal, and softly approaching, he threw 
himself at his lady’s feet — “ thy song is too sad for this 
golden eve.” 

“ No sound ever went to the heart,” said Adrian, 
“ whose arrow was not feathered by sadness. True 
sentiment, Montreal, is twin with melancholy, though 
not with gloom.” 

The lady looked softly and approvingly up at 
Adrian’s face ; she was pleased with its expression ; she 
was pleased yet more with words of which women 
rather than men would acknowledge the truth. Adrian 
returned the look with one of deep and eloquent sym- 
pathy and respect; in fact, the short story he had 
heard from Montreal had interested him deeply in her ; 
and never to the brilliant queen, to whose court he 
was bound, did his manner wear so chivalric and ear- 
nest a homage as it did to that lone and ill-fated lady 
on the twilight shores of Terracina. 

Adeline blushed slightly and sighed ; and then, to 
break the awkwardness of a pause which had stolen 
over them, as Montreal, unheeding the last remark 
of Adrian, was tuning the strings of the lute, she said — 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 235 

“ Of course, the Signor di Castello shares the uni- 
versal enthusiasm for Petrarch ? ” 

“ Ay,” cried Montreal ; “ my lady is Petrarch mad, 
like the rest of them : but all I know is, that never did 
belted knight and honest lover woo in such fantastic 
and tortured strains.” 

“ In Italy,” answered Adrian, “ common language 
is exaggeration ; — but even your own Troubadour 
poetry might tell you that love, ever seeking a new 
language of its own, cannot but often run into what 
to all but lovers seems distortion and conceit.” 

“ Come, dear Signor,” said Montreal, placing the 
lute in Adrian’s hands, “ let Adeline be the umpire be- 
tween us, which music — yours or mine — can woo the 
more blandly.” 

“ Ah,” said Adrian, laughing ; “ I fear me, Sir 
Knight, you have already bribed the umpire.” 

Montreal’s eyes and Adeline’s met, and in that gaze 
Adeline forgot all her sorrows. 

With a practised and skilful hand, Adrian touched 
the strings ; and selecting a song which was less elab- 
orate than those mostly in vogue amongst his country- 
men, though still conceived in the Italian spirit, and 
in accordance with the sentiment he had previously 
expressed to Adeline, he sang as follows : — 

LOVE’S EXCUSE FOR SADNESS 

Chide not, beloved, if oft with thee 
I feel not rapture wholly; 

For aye the heart that’s fill’d with love, 

Runs o’er in melancholy. 

To streams that glide in noon, the shade 
From summer skies is given; 

So, if my breast reflects the cloud, 

’Tis but the cloud of heaven! 


236 


RIENZI 


Thine image glass’d within my soul, 

So well the mirror keepeth; 

That, chide me not, if with the light 
The shadow also sleepeth. 

t 

“ And now,” said Adrian, as he concluded, “ the lute 
is to you : I but prelude your prize.” 

The Provencal laughed, and shook his head. — “With 
any other umpire, I had had my lute broken on my 
own head, for my conceit in provoking such a rival ; 
but I must not shrink from a contest I have myself 
provoked, even though in one day twice defeated.” 
And with that, in a deep and exquisitely melodious 
voice, which wanted only more scientific culture to 
have challenged any competition, the Knight of St. 
John poured forth 

THE LAY OF THE TROUBADOUR 

1 

Gentle river, the moonbeam is hush’d on thy tide, 

On thy pathway of light to my lady I glide. 

My boat, where the stream laves the castle, I moor, — 

All at rest save the maid and her young Troubadour! 

As the stars to the waters that bore 
My bark, to my spirit thou art; 

Heaving yet, see it bound to the shore, 

So moor’d to thy beauty my heart, — 

Bel’ amie, beV amie, beV amie! 

2 

Wilt thou fly from the world? It hath wealth for the vain 
But Love breaks his bond when there’s gold in the chain: 
Wilt thou fly from the world? It hath courts for the proud; — 
But Love, born in caves, pines to death in the crowd. 

Were this bosom thy world, dearest one, 

Thy world could not fail to be bright; 

For thou shouldst thyself be its sun, 

And what spot could be dim in thy light — 

BeV amie, beV amie, beV amie? 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 237 


3 

The rich and the great woo thee dearest; and poor, 

Though his fathers were princes, thy young Troubadour! 

But his heart never quail’d save to thee, his adored, — 

There’s no guile in his lute, and no stain on his sword. 

Ah, I reck not what sorrows I know, 

Could I still on thy solace confide; 

And I care not, though earth be my foe. 

If thy soft heart be found by my side, — 

BeV amie, beV amie, beV amie! 

4 

The maiden she blushed, and the maiden she sighed, 

Not a cloud in the sky, not a gale on the tide; 

But though tempest had raged on the wave and the wind, 
That castle, methinks, had been still left behind! 

Sweet lily, though bow’d by the blast, 

(To this bosom transplanted) since then, 

Wouldst thou change, could we call the past. 

To the rock from thy garden again — 

BeV amie, beV amie, beV amie? 

Thus they alternated the time with converse and 
song, as the wooded hills threw their sharp, long 
shadows over the sea; while from many a mound of 
waking flowers, and many a copse of citron and 
orange, relieved by the dark and solemn aloe, stole 
the summer breeze, laden with mingled odours; and, 
over the seas, coloured by the slow-fading hues of pur- 
ple and rose, that the sun had long bequeathed to the 
twilight, flitted the gay fire-flies that sparkle along that 
enchanted coast. At length, the moon slowly rose 
above the dark forest-steeps, gleaming on the gay 
pavilion and glittering pennon of Montreal, — on the 
verdant sward, — the polished mail of the soldiers, 
stretched on the grass in various groups, half-shaded 
by oaks and cypress, and the war-steeds grazing peace- 


238 


RIENZI 


ably together — a wild mixture of the Pastoral and 
the Iron time. 

Adrian, reluctantly reminded of his journey, rose to 
depart. 

“ I fear,” said he to Adeline, “ that I have already 
detained you too late in the night air: but selfishness 
is little considerate.” 

“ Nay, you see we are prudent,” said Adeline, point- 
ing to Montreal’s mantle, which his provident hand 
had long since drawn around her form ; “ but if you 
must part, farewell, and success attend you ! ” 

“ We may meet again, I trust,” said Adrian. 

Adeline sighed gently ; and the Colonna, gazing on 
her face by the moonlight, to which it was slightly 
raised, was painfully struck by its almost transparent 
delicacy. Moved by his compassion, ere he mounted 
his steed, he drew Montreal aside, — “ Forgive me if I 
seem presumptuous,” said he ; “ but to one so noble 
this wild life is scarce a fitting career. I know that, 
in our time, War consecrates all his children; but 
surely a settled rank in the court of the Emperor, or 
an honourable reconciliation with your knightly breth- 
ren, were better ” 

“ Than a Tartar camp, and a brigand’s castle,” in- 
terrupted Montreal, with some impatience. “ This 
you were about to say — you are mistaken. Society 
thrust me from her bosom ; let society take the fruit 
it hath sown. ‘ A fixed rank,’ say you? some subal- 
tern office, to fight at other men’s command! You 
know me not: Walter de Montreal was not formed 
to obey. War when I will and rest when I list, is the 
motto of my escutcheon. Ambition proffers me re- 
wards you wot not of ; and I am of the mould as of 
the race of those whose swords have conquered 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 239 

thrones. For the rest, your news of the alliance of 
Louis of Hungary with your Tribune makes it neces- 
sary for the friend of Louis to withdraw from all feud 
with Rome. Ere the week expire, the owl and the 
bat may seek refuge in yon gray turrets.” 

“ But your lady ? ” 

“ Is inured to change. — God help her, and temper 
the rough wind to the lamb ! ” 

“ Enough, Sir Knight : but should you desire a sure 
refuge at Rome for one so gentle and so highborn, by 
the right hand of a knight, I promise a safe roof and 
an honoured home to the Lady Adeline.” 

Montreal pressed the offered hand to his heart ; then 
plucking his own hastily away, drew it across his eyes, 
and joined Adeline, in a silence that showed he dared 
not trust himself to speak. In a few moments Adrian 
and his train were on the march ; but still the young 
Colonna turned back, to gaze once more on his wild 
host and that lovely lady, as they themselves lingered 
on the moonlit sward, while the sea rippled mourn- 
fully on their ears. 

It was not many months after that date, that the 
name of Fra Moreale scattered terror and dismay 
throughout the fair Campania. The right hand of the 
Hungarian king, in his invasion of Naples, he was 
chosen afterwards vicar (or vicegerent) of Louis in 
Aversa; and fame and fate seemed to lead him tri- 
umphantly along that ambitious career which he had 
elected, whether bounded by the scaffold or the 
throne. 


BOOK IV 

THE TRIUMPH AND THE POMP 


“ Allora fama e paura di si buono reggimento, passa in 
ogni terra .” — Vita di Cola di Rienzi, lib. i. cap. 21. 

“ Then the fame and the fear of that so good government 
passed into every land .” — Life of Cola di Rienzi. 


CHAPTER I 

THE BOY ANGELO — THE DREAM OF NINA FULFILLED 

The thread of my story transports us back to Rome. 
It was in a small chamber, in a ruinous mansion by the 
base of Mount Aventine, that a young boy sate, one 
evening, with a woman of a tall and stately form, but 
somewhat bowed both by infirmity and years. The 
boy was of a fair and comely presence ; and there was 
that in his bold, frank, undaunted carriage, which 
made him appear older than he was. 

The old woman, seated in the recess of the deep 
window, was apparently occupied with a Bible that lay 
open on her knees; but ever and anon she lifted her 
eyes, and gazed on her young companion with a sad 
and anxious expression. 

“ Dame,” said the boy, who was busily employed in 
hewing out a sword of wood, “ I would you had seen 
the show to-day. Why, every day is a show at Rome 
now! It is show enough to see the Tribune himself 
on his white steed — (oh, it is so beautiful!) — with his 
240 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


241 


white robes all studded with jewels. But to-day, as I 
have just been telling you, the Lady Nina took notice 
of me, as I stood on the stairs of the Capitol : you 
know, dame, I had donned my best blue velvet 
doublet.” 

“ And she called you a fair boy, and asked if you 
would be her little page ; and this has turned thy brain, 
silly urchin that thou art ” 

“ But the words are the least : if you saw the Lady 
Nina, you would own that a smile from her might turn 
the wisest head in Italy. Oh, how I should like to 
serve the Tribune ! All the lads of my age are mad 
for him. How they will stare, and envy me at school 
to-morrow ! You know too, dame, that though I was 
not always brought up at Rome, I am Roman. Every 
Roman loves Rienzi.” 

“ Ay, for the hour : the cry will soon change. This 
vanity of thine, Angelo, vexes my old heart. I would 
thou wert humbler.” 

“ Bastards have their own name to win,” said the 
boy, colouring deeply. “ They twit me in the teeth, 
because I cannot say who my father and mother were.” 

“ They need not,” returned the dame, hastily. 
“ Thou comest of noble blood and long descent, 
though, as I have told thee often, I know not the exact 
names of thy parents. But what art thou shaping that 
tough sapling of oak into ? ” 

“ A sword, dame, to assist the Tribune against the 
robbers.” 

“ Alas ! I fear me, like all those who seek power in 
Italy, he is more likely to enlist robbers than to assail 
them.” 

“ Why, la you there, you live so shut up, that you 
know and hear nothing, or you would have learned 
16 


242 


RIENZI 


that even that fiercest of all the robbers, Fra Moreale, 
has at length yielded to the Tribune, and fled from his 
castle, like a rat from a falling house.” 

“ How, how ! ” cried the dame ; “ what say you ? 
Has this plebeian, whom you call the Tribune — has he 
boldly thrown the gage to that dread warrior ? and has 
Montreal left the Roman territory ? ” 

“ Ay, it is the talk of the town. But Fra Moreale 
seems as much a bugbear to you as to e’er a mother 
in Rome. Did he ever wrong you, dame ? ” 

“Yes! ” exclaimed the old woman, with so abrupt 
a fierceness, that even that hardy boy was startled. 

“I wish I could meet him, then,” said he, after a 
pause, as he flourished his mimic weapon. 

“ Now Heaven forbid ! He is a man ever to be 
shunned by thee, whether for peace or war. Say again 
this good Tribune holds no terms with the Free 
Lances.” 

“ Say it again — why all Rome knows it.” 

“ He is pious, too, I have heard ; and they do bruit 
it that he sees visions, and is comforted from above,” 
said the woman, speaking to herself. Then turning to 
Angelo, she continued, — “ Thou wouldst like greatly 
to accept the Lady Nina’s proffer? ” 

“ Ah, that I should, dame, if you could spare me.” 
“ Child,” replied the matron, solemnly, “ my sand 
is nearly run, and my wish is to see thee placed with 
one who will nurture thy young years, and save thee 
from a life of licence. That done, I may fulfil my vow, 
and devote the desolate remnant of my years to God. 
I will think more of this, my child. Not under such a 
plebeian’s roof shouldst thou have lodged, nor from a 
stranger’s board been fed : but at Rome, my last rela- 
tive worthy of the trust is dead; — and at the worst, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


243 


obscure honesty is better than gaudy crime. Thy 
spirit troubles me already. Back, my child ; I must to 
my closet, and watch and pray.” 

Thus saying, the old woman, repelling the advance, 
and silencing the muttered and confused words, of the 
boy — half affectionate as they were, yet half tetchy and 
wayward — glided from the chamber. 

The boy looked abstractedly at the closing door, and 
then said to himself — “ The dame is always talking 
riddles : I wonder if she know more of me than she 
tells, or if she is any way akin to me. I hope not, for 
I don’t love her much ; nor, for that matter, anything 
else. I wish she would place me with the Tribune’s 
lady, and then we’ll see who among the lads will call 
Angelo Villani bastard.” 

With that the boy fell to work again at his sword 
with redoubled vigour. In fact, the cold manner of 
this female, his sole nurse, companion, substitute for 
parent, had repelled his affections without subduing 
his temper ; and though not originally of evil disposi- 
tion, Angelo Villani was already insolent, cunning, 
and revengeful; but not, on the other hand, without 
a quick susceptibility to kindness as to affront, a nat- 
ural acuteness of understanding, and a great indiffer- 
ence to fear. Brought up in quiet affluence rather 
than luxury, and living much with his protector, whom 
he knew but by the name of Ursula, his bearing was 
graceful, and his air that of the well-born. And it was 
his carriage, perhaps, rather than his countenance, 
which, though handsome, was more distinguished for 
intelligence than beauty, which had attracted the no- 
tice of the Tribune’s bride. His education was that of 
one reared for some scholastic profession. He was 
not only taught to read and write, but had been even 


2 44 


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instructed in the rudiments of Latin. He did not* 
however, incline to these studies half so fondly as to 
the games of his companions, or the shows or riots in 
the street, into all of which he managed to thrust him- 
self, and from which he had always the happy dex- 
terity to return safe and unscathed. 

The next morning Ursula entered the young An- 
gelo’s chamber. “ Wear again thy blue doublet to- 
day,” said she ; “ I would have thee look thy best. 
Thou shalt go with me to the palace.” 

“ What, to-day?” cried the boy joyfully, half leap- 
ing from his bed. “ Dear dame Ursula, shall I really 
then belong to the train of the great Tribune’s lady? ” 

“ Yes ; and leave the old woman to die alone ! Your 
joy becomes you, — but ingratitude is in your blood. 
Ingratitude ! Oh, it has burned my heart into ashes — 
and yours, boy, can no longer find a fuel in the dry 
crumbling cinders.” 

“ Dear dame, you are always so biting. You know 
you said you wished to retire into a convent, and I was 
too troublesome a charge for you. But you delight 
in rebuking me, justly or unjustly.” 

“ My task is over,” said Ursula, with a deep-drawn 
sigh. 

The boy answered not; and the old woman retired 
with a heavy step, and, it may be, a heavier heart. 
When he joined her in their common apartment, he 
observed what his joy had previously blinded him to — 
that Ursula did not wear her usual plain and sober 
dress. The gold chain, rarely assumed then by women 
not of noble birth — though, in the other sex, affected 
also by public functionaries and wealthy merchants — 
glittered upon a robe of the rich flowered stuffs of 
Venice, and the clasps that confined the vest at the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES' 245 

throat and waist were adorned with jewels of no com- 
mon price. 

Angelo’s eye was struck by the change, but he felt 
a more manly pride in remarking that the old lady 
became it well. Her air and mien were indeed those 
of one to whom such garments were habitual ; and 
they seemed that day more than usually austere and 
stately. 

She smoothed the boy’s ringlets, drew his short 
mantle more gracefully over his shoulder, and then 
placed in his belt a poniard whose handle was richly 
studded, and a purse well filled with florins. 

“ Learn to use both discreetly,” said she ; “ and 
whether I live or die, you will never require to wield 
the poniard to procure the gold.”, 

“ This, then,” cried Angelo, enchanted, “ is a real 
poniard to fight the robbers with ! Ah, with this I 
should not fear Fra Moreale, who wronged thee so. 
I trust I may yet avenge thee, though thou didst rate 
me so just now for ingratitude.” 

“ I am avenged. Nourish not such thoughts, my 
son, they are sinful ; at least I fear so. Draw to the 
board and eat ; we will go betimes, as petitioners 
should do.” 

Angelo had soon finished his morning meal, and 
sallying with Ursula to the porch, he saw, to his sur- 
prise, four of those servitors who then usually attended 
persons of distinction, and who were to be hired in 
every city, for the convenience of strangers or the 
holyday ostentation of the gayer citizens. 

“ How grand we are to-day ! ” said he, clapping his 
hands with an eagerness which Ursula failed not to 
reprove. 

“ It is not for vain show,” she added, “ which true 


246 


RIENZI 


nobility can well dispense with, but that we may the 
more readily gain admittance to the palace. These 
princes of yesterday are not easy of audience to the 
over humble.” 

“ Oh ! but you are wrong this time,” said the boy. 
“ The Tribune gives audience to all men, the poorest 
as the richest. Nay, there is not a ragged boor, or a 
barefooted friar, who does not win access to him 
sooner than the proudest baron. That’s why the 
people love him so. And he devotes one day of the 
week to receiving the widows and the orphans ; — and 
you know, dame, I am an orphan.” 

Ursula, already occupied with her own thoughts, did 
not answer, and scarcely heard, the boy ; but leaning 
on his young arm, and preceded by the footmen to 
clear the way, passed slowly towards the palace of the 
Capitol. 

A wonderful thing would it have been to a more 
observant eye, to note the change which two or three 
short months of the stern but salutary and wise rule 
of the Tribune had effected in the streets of Rome. 
You no longer beheld the gaunt and mail-clad forms 
of foreign mercenaries stalking through the vistas, or 
grouped in lazy insolence before the embattled porches 
of some gloomy palace. The shops, that in many 
quarters had been closed for years, were again open, 
glittering with wares and bustling with trade. The 
thoroughfares, formerly either silent as death, or 
crossed by some affrighted and solitary passenger with 
quick steps, and eyes that searched every corner, — or 
resounding with the roar of a pauper rabble, or the 
open feuds of savage nobles, now exhibited the regu- 
lar, and wholesome, and mingled streams of civilised 
life, whether bound to pleasure or to commerce. Carts 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 247 

and waggons laden with goods which had passed 
in safety by the dismantled holds of the robbers of 
the Campagna, rattled cheerfully over the pathways. 
“ Never, perhaps,” — to use the translation adapted 
from the Italian authorities, by a modern and by no 
means a partial historian* — “ Never, perhaps, has the 
energy and effect of a single mind been more remark- 
ably felt than in the sudden reformation of Rome by 
the Tribune Rienzi. A den of robbers was converted to 
the discipline of a camp or convent. * In this time/ 
says the historian, f ‘ did the woods begin to rejoice 
that they were no longer infested with robbers; the 
oxen began to plough ; the pilgrims visited the sanctu- 
aries ;J the roads and inns were replenished with trav- 
ellers : trade, plenty, and good faith, were restored in 
the markets ; and a purse of gold might be exposed 
without danger in the midst of the highways/ ” 

Amidst all these evidences of comfort and security 
to the people — some dark and discontented counte- 
nances might be seen mingled in the crowd, and when- 
ever one who wore the livery of the Colonna or the 
Orsini felt himself jostled by the throng, a fierce hand 
moved involuntarily to the sword-belt, and a half- 
suppressed oath was ended with an indignant sigh. 
Here and there too, — contrasting the redecorated, re- 
furnished, and smiling shops — heaps of rubbish before 
the gate of some haughty mansion testified the abase- 
ment of fortifications which the owner impotently re- 
sented as a sacrilege. Through such streets and such 
throngs did the party we accompany wend their way, 
till they found themselves amidst crowds assembled 

* Gibbon. 

t Vita di Cola di Rienzi, lib. i. c. 9. 

X Gibbon : the words in the original are “ li pellegrini comiti- 
ciaro a fere le cerca per la santuaria.” 


248 


RIENZI 


before the entrance of the Capitol. The officers there 
stationed kept, however, so discreet and dexterous an 
order, that they were not long detained ; and now in 
the broad place or court of that memorable building, 
they saw the open doors of the great justice-hall, 
guarded but by a single sentinel, and in which, for six 
hours daily, did the Tribune hold his court, for 
“ patient to hear, swift to redress, inexorable to punish, 
his tribunal was always accessible to the poor and 
stranger.” * 

Not, however, to that hall did the party bend its 
way, but to the entrance which admitted to the private 
apartments of the palace. And here the pomp, the 
gaud, the more than regal magnificence, of the resi- 
dence of the Tribune, strongly contrasted the patri- 
archal simplicity which marked his justice court. 

Even Ursula, not unaccustomed, of yore, to the lux- 
urious state of Italian and French principalities, 
seemed roused into surprise at the hall crowded with 
retainers in costly liveries, the marble and gilded col- 
umns wreathed with flowers, and the gorgeous banners 
wrought with the blended arms of the Republican City 
and the Pontifical See, which blazed aloft and around. 

Scarce knowing whom to address in such an as- 
semblage, Ursula was relieved from her perplexity by 
an officer attired in a suit of crimson and gold, who, 
with a grave and formal decorum, which indeed 
reigned throughout the whole retinue, demanded, re- 
spectfully, whom she sought? “ The Signora Nina! ” 
replied Ursula, drawing up her stately person, with a 
natural, though somewhat antiquated, dignity. There 
was something foreign in the accent, which influenced 
the officer's answer. 

* Gibbon. j 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 249 

“ To-day, madam, I fear that the Signora receives 
only the Roman ladies. To-morrow is that appointed 
for all foreign dames of distinction.” 

Ursula, with a slight impatience of tone, replied — 

“ My business is of that nature which is welcome on 
any day, at palaces. I come, Signor, to lay certain 
presents at the Signora’s feet, which I trust she will 
deign to accept.” 

“ And say, Signor,” added the boy, abruptly, “ that 
Angelo Villani, whom the Lady Nina honoured yes- 
terday with her notice, is no stranger but a Roman; 
and comes, as she bade him, to proffer to the Signora 
his homage and devotion.” 

The grave officer could not refrain a smile at the 
pert, yet not ungraceful, boldness of the boy. 

“ I remember me, Master Angelo Villani,” he re- 
plied, “ that the Lady Nina spoke to you by the great 
staircase. Madam, I will do your errand. Please to 
follow me to an apartment more fitting your sex and 
seeming.” 

With that the officer led the "way across the hall to 
a broad staircase of white marble, along the centre of 
which were laid those rich Eastern carpets which at 
that day, when rushes strewed the chambers of an 
English monarch, were already common to the greater 
luxury of Italian palaces. Opening a door at the first 
flight, he ushered Ursula and her young charge into 
a lofty ante-chamber, hung with arras of wrought vel- 
vets ; while over the opposite door, through which the 
officer now vanished, were blazoned the armorial bear- 
ings which the Tribune so constantly introduced in all 
his pomp, not more from the love of show, than from 
his politic desire to mingle with the keys of the Pontiff 
the heraldic insignia of the Republic. 


250 


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“ Philip of Valois is not housed like this man ! ” mut- 
tered Ursula. “ If this last, I shall have done better 
for my charge than I recked of.” 

The officer soon returned, and led them across an 
apartment of vast extent, which was indeed the great 
reception chamber of the palace. Four-and-twenty 
columns of the Oriental alabaster which had attested 
the spoils of the later emperors, and had been disin- 
terred from forgotten ruins, to grace the palace of the 
Reviver of the old Republic, supported the light roof, 
which, half Gothic, half classic, in its architecture, was 
inlaid with gilded and purple mosaics. The tesselated 
floor was covered in the centre with cloth of gold, the 
walls were clothed, at intervals, with the same gor- 
geous hangings, relieved by panels freshly painted in 
the most glowing colours, with mystic and symbolical 
designs. At the upper end of this royal chamber, two 
steps ascended to the place of the Tribune’s throne, 
above which was the canopy* wrought with the eternal 
armorial bearings of the Pontiff and the City. 

Traversing this apartment, the officer opened the 
door at its extremity, which admitted to a small 
chamber, crowded with pages in rich dresses of silver 
and blue velvet. There were few amongst them elder 
than Angelo; and, from their general beauty, they 
seemed the very flower and blossom of the city. 

Short time had Angelo to gaze on his comrades that 
were to be : — another minute, and he and his pro- 
tectress were in the presence of the Tribune’s bride. 

The chamber was not large — but it was large 
enough to prove that the beautiful daughter of Raselli 
had realised her visions of vanity and splendour. 

It was an apartment that mocked description — it 
seemed a cabinet for the gems of the world. The day- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 251 

light, shaded by high and deep-set casements of stained 
glass, streamed in a purple and mellow hue over all 
that the art of that day boasted most precious, or regal 
luxury held most dear. The candelabras of the silver 
workmanship of Florence ; the carpets and stuffs of the 
East; the draperies of Venice and Genoa; paintings 
like the illuminated missals, wrought in gold, and 
those lost colours of blue and crimson ; antique mar- 
bles, which spoke of the bright days of Athens ; tables 
of disinterred mosaics, their freshness preserved as by 
magic ; censers of gold that steamed with the odours 
of Araby, yet so subdued as not to deaden the health- 
ier scent of flowers, which blushed in every corner 
from their marble and alabaster vases; a small and 
spirit-like fountain, which seemed to gush from among 
wreaths of roses, diffusing in its diamond and fairy 
spray, a scarce felt coolness to the air ; — all these, and 
such as these, which it were vain work to detail, con- 
gregated in the richest luxuriance, harmonised with 
the most exquisite taste, uniting the ancient arts with 
the modern, amazed and intoxicated the sense of the 
beholder. It was not so much the cost, nor the lux- 
ury, that made the character of the chamber ; it was a 
certain gorgeous and almost sublime phantasy, — so 
that it seemed rather the fabled retreat of an enchant- 
ress, at whose word genii ransacked the earth, and 
fairies arranged the produce, than the grosser splen- 
dour of an earthly queen. Behind the piled cushions 
upon which Nina half reclined, stood four girls, beau- 
tiful as nymphs, with fans of the rarest feathers, and 
at her feet lay one older than the rest, whose lute, 
though now silent, attested her legitimate occupation. 

But, had the room in itself seemed somewhat, too 
fantastic and overcharged in its prodigal ornaments, 


252 


RIENZI 


the form and face of Nina would at once have ren- 
dered all appropriate : so completely did she seem the 
natural Spirit of the Place; so wonderfully did her 
beauty, elated as it now was with contented love, grati- 
fied vanity, exultant hope, body forth the brightest 
vision that ever floated before the eyes of Tasso, when 
he wrought into one immortal shape the glory of the 
Enchantress with the allurements of the Woman. 

Nina half rose as she saw Ursula, whose sedate and 
mournful features involuntarily testified her surprise 
and admiration at a loveliness so rare and striking, but 
who, undazzled by the splendour around, soon recov- 
ered her wonted self-composure, and seated herself on 
the cushion to which Nina pointed, while the young 
visitor remained standing, and spell-bound by childish 
wonder, in the centre of the apartment. Nina recog- 
nised him with a smile. 

“ Ah, my pretty boy, whose quick eye and bold air 
caught my fancy yesterday ! Have you come to ac- 
cept my offer? Is it you, madam, who claim this fair 
child ? ” 

“ Lady,” replied Ursula, “ my business here is brief : 
by a train of events, needless to weary you with nar- 
rating, this boy from his infancy fell to my charge — a 
weighty and anxious trust to one whose thoughts are 
beyond the barrier of life. I have reared him as be- 
came a youth of gentle blood ; for on both sides, lady, 
he is noble, though an orphan, motherless and sire- 
less.” 

“ Poor child ! ” said Nina, compassionately. 

“ Growing now,” continued Ursula, “ oppressed by 
years, and desirous only to make my peace with 
Heaven, I journeyed hither some months since, in the 
design to place the boy with a relation of mine ; and, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 253. 

that trust fulfilled, to take the vows in the City of the 
Apostle. Alas ! I found my kinsman dead, and a baron 
of wild and dissolute character was his heir. Here 
remaining, perplexed and anxious, it seemed to me 
the voice of Providence when, yester-evening, the 
child told me you had been pleased to honour him 
with your notice. Like the rest of Rome, he has 
already learned enthusiasm for the Tribune — devotion 
to the Tribune’s bride. Will you, in truth, admit him 
of your household ? He will not dishonour your pro- 
tection by his blood, nor, I trust, by his bearing.” 

“ I would take his face for his guarantee, madam, 
even without so distinguished a recommendation as 
your own. Is he Roman? His name then must be 
known to me.” 

“ Pardon me, lady,” replied Ursula : “ he bears the 
name of Angelo Villani — not that of his sire or mother. 
The honour of a noble house for ever condemns his 
parentage to rest unknown. He is the offspring of a 
love unsanctioned by the church.” 

“ He is the more to be loved, then, and to be pitied 
— victim of sin not his own ! ” answered Nina, with 
moistened eyes, as she saw the deep and burning blush 
that covered the boy’s cheeks. “ With the Tribune’s 
reign commences a new era of nobility, when rank 
and knighthood shall be won by a man’s own merit — 
not that of his ancestors. Fear not, madam: in my 
house he shall know no slight.” 

Ursula was moved from her pride by the kindness 
of Nina ; she approached with involuntary reverence, 
and kissed the Signora’s hand — 

“ May our Lady reward your noble heart ! ” said 
she : “ and now my mission is ended, and my earthly 
goal is won. Add only, lady, to your inestimable 


254 


RIENZI 


favours one more. These jewels ” — and Ursula drew 
from her robe a casket, touched the spring, and the lid 
flying back, discovered jewels of great size and the 
most brilliant water, — “ these jewels,” she continued, 
laying the casket at Nina’s feet, “ once belonging to 
the princely house of Thoulouse, are valueless to me 
and mine. Suffer me to think that they are trans- 
ferred to one whose queenly brow will give them a 
lustre it cannot borrow.” 

“ How! ” said Nina, colouring very deeply; “ think 
you, madam, my kindness can be bought ? What 
woman’s kindness ever was? Nay, nay — take back 
the gifts, or I shall pray you to take back your 
boy.” 

Ursula was astonished and confounded : to her ex- 
perience such abstinence was a novelty, and she 
scarcely knew how to meet it. Nina perceived her 
embarrassment with a haughty and triumphant smile, 
and then, regaining her former courtesy of demeanour, 
said, with a grave sweetness — 

“ The Tribune’s hands are clean, — the Tribune’s wife 
must not be suspected. Rather, madam, should I 
press upon you some token of exchange for the fair 
charge you have committed to me. Your jewels here- 
after may profit the boy in his career: reserve them 
for one who needs them.” 

“ No, lady,” said Ursula, rising and lifting her eyes 
to heaven ; — “ they shall buy masses for his mother’s 
soul ; for him I shall reserve a competence when his 
years require it. Lady, accept the thanks of a 
wretched and desolate heart. Fare you well ! ” 

She turned to quit the room, but with so faltering 
and weak a step, that Nina, touched and affected, 
sprung up, and with her own hand guided the old 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 255 

Woman across the room, whispering comfort and 
soothing to her; while, as they reached the door, the 
boy rushed forward, and, clasping Ursula’s robe, sob- 
bed out — “ Dear dame, not one farewell for your little 
Angelo ! Forgive him all he has cost you ! Now, for 
the first time, I feel how wayward and thankless I have 
been.” 

The old woman caught him in her arms, and kissed 
him passionately; when the boy, as if a thought sud- 
denly struck him, drew forth the purse she had given 
him, and said, in a choked and scarce articulate voice, 
— ' “ And let this, dearest dame, go in masses for my 
poor father’s soul ; for he is dead, too, you know ! ” 

These words seemed to freeze at once all the ten- 
derer emotions of Ursula. She put back the boy with 
the same chilling and stern severity of aspect and man- 
ner which had so often before repressed him : and re- 
covering her self-possession, at once quitted the apart- 
rtient without saying another word. Nina, surprised, 
but still pitying her sorrow and respecting her age, 
followed her steps across the pages’ ante-room and the 
reception-chamber, even to the foot of the stairs, — a 
condescension the haughtiest princes of Rome could 
not have won from her; and returning, saddened and 
thoughtful, she took the boy’s hand, and affectionately 
kissed his forehead. 

“Poor boy!” she said, “ it seems as if Providence 
had made me select thee yesterday from the crowd, 
and thus conducted thee to thy proper refuge. For to 
whom should come the friendless and the orphans of 
Rome, but to the palace of Rome’s first Magistrate ? ” 
Turning then to her attendants, she gave them in- 
structions as to the personal comforts of her new 
charge, which evinced that if power had ministered to 


RIENZI 


256 

her vanity, it had not steeled her heart. Angelo 
Villani lived to repay her well! 

She retained the boy in her presence, and convers- 
ing with him familiarly, she was more and more 
pleased with his bold spirit and frank manner. Their 
conversation was however interrupted, as the day ad- 
vanced, by the arrival of several ladies of the Roman 
nobility. And then it was that Nina’s virtues receded 
into shade, and her faults appeared. She could not 
resist the woman’s triumph over those arrogant sig- 
noras who now cringed in homage where they had 
once slighted with disdain. She affected the manner 
of, she demanded the respect due, to a queen. And 
by many of those dexterous arts which the sex know 
so well, she contrived to render her very courtesy a 
humiliation to her haughty guests. Her commanding 
beauty and her graceful intellect saved her, indeed, 
from the vulgar insolence of the upstart ; but yet more 
keenly stung the pride, by forbidding to those she 
mortified the retaliation of contempt. Hers were the 
covert taunt — the smiling affront — the sarcasm in the 
mask of compliment — the careless exaction of respect 
in trifles, which could not outwardly be resented, but 
which could not inly be forgiven. 

“ Fair day to the Signora Colonna,” said she to the 
proud wife of the proud Stephen ; “ we passed your 
palace yesterday. How fair it now seems, relieved 
from those gloomy battlements which it must often 
have saddened you to gaze upon. Signora ” (turning 
to one of the Orsini), “ your lord has high favour with 
the Tribune, who destines him to great command. 
His fortunes are secured, ^nd we rejoice at it ; for no 
man more loyally serves the state. Have you seen, 
fair Lady of Frangipani, the last verses of Petrarch 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 257 

in honour of my lord ? — they rest yonder. May we so 
far venture as to request you to point out their beau- 
ties to the Signora di Savelli? We rejoice, noble 
Lady of Malatesta, to observe that your eyesight is so 
well restored. The last time we met, though we stood 
next to you in the revels of the Lady Giulia, you 
seemed scarce to distinguish us from the pillar by 
which we stood ! ” 

“ Must this insolence be endured ! ” whispered the 
Signora Frangipani to the Signora Malatesta. 

“ Hush, hush ; if ever it be our day again ! ” 


CHAPTER II 

THE BLESSING OF A COUNCILLOR WHOSE INTERESTS 

AND HEART ARE OUR OWN. THE STRAWS THROWN 

UPWARD DO THEY PORTEND A STORM 

It was later that day than usual, when Rienzi re- 
turned from his tribunal to the apartments of the pal- 
ace. As he traversed the reception hall, his counte- 
nance was much flushed ; his teeth were set firmly, like 
a man who has taken a strong resolution from which 
he will not be moved; and his brow was dark with 
that settled and fearful frown which the describers of 
his personal appearance have not failed to notice as the 
characteristic of an anger the more deadly because in- 
variably just. Close at his heels followed the Bishop 
of Orvietto and the aged Stephen Colonna. “ I tell 
you, my Lords,” said Rienzi, “ that ye plead in vain. 
Rome knows no distinction between ranks. The law 
is blind to the agent — lynx-eyed to the deed.” 

“ Yet,” said Raimond, hesitatingly, “ bethink thee, 


17 


258 


RIENZI 


Tribune; the nephew of two cardinals, and himself 
once a senator.” 

Rienzi halted abruptly, and faced his companions. 
“ My Lord Bishop,” said he, “ does not this make the 
crime more inexcusable ? Look you, thus it reads : — 
A vessel from Avignon to Naples, charged with the 
revenues of Provence to Queen Joanna, on whose 
cause, mark you, we now hold solemn council, is 
wrecked at the mouth of the Tiber; with that, Martino 
di Porto — a noble, as you say — the holder of that for- 
tress whence he derives his title, — doubly bound by 
gentle blood and by immediate neighbourhood to suc- 
cour the oppressed — falls upon the vessel with his 
troops (what hath the rebel with armed troops?) — 
and pillages the vessel like a common robber. He is 
apprehended — brought to my tribunal — receives fair 
trial — is condemned to die. Such is the law; — what 
more would ye have ? ” 

“ Mercy,” said the Colonna. 

Rienzi folded his arms, and laughed disdainfully. 
“ I never heard my Lord Colonna plead for mercy 
when a peasant had stolen the bread that was to feed 
his famishing children.” 

“ Between a peasant and a prince, Tribune, /, for 
one, recognise a distinction : — the bright blood of an 
Orsini is not to be shed like that of a base ple- 
beian ” 

“ Which, I remember me,” said Rienzi, in a low 
voice, “ you deemed small matter enough when my 
boy-brother fell beneath the wanton spear of your 
proud son. Wake not that memory, I warn you ; let 
it sleep. — For shame, old Colonna — for shame; so 
near the grave, where the worm levels all flesh, and 
preaching, with those gray hairs, the uncharitable dis- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 259 

tinction between man and man. Is there not distinc- 
tion enough at the best? Does not one wear purple, 
and the other rags ? Hath not one ease and the other 
toil? Doth not the one banquet while the other 
starves? Do I nourish any mad scheme to level the 
ranks which society renders a necessary evil ? No. I 
war no more with Dives than with Lazarus. But be- 
fore man’s judgment-seat, as before God’s, Lazarus 
and Dives are made equal. No more.” 

Colonna drew his robe round him with great 
haughtiness, and bit his lip in silence. Raimond in- 
terposed. 

“ All this is true, Tribune. But,” and he drew 
Rienzi aside, “ you know we must be politic as well as 
just. Nephew to two cardinals, what enmity will not 
this provoke at Avignon ? ” 

“ Vex not yourself, holy Raimond, I will answer it 
to the Pontiff.” While they spoke the bell tolled 
heavily and loudly. 

Colonna started. 

“ Great Tribune,” said he, with a slight sneer, 
“ deign to pause ere it be too late. I know not that 
I ever before bent to you a suppliant ; and I ask you 
now to spare mine own foe. Stephen Colonna prays 
Cola di Rienzi to spare the life of an Orsini.” 

“ I understand thy taunt, old Lord,” said Rienzi, 
calmly, “but I resent it not. You are foe to the 
Orsini, yet you plead for him— it sounds generous ; 
but hark you, — you are more a friend to your order 
than a foe to your rival. You cannot bear that one, 
great enough to have contended with you, should per- 
ish like a thief. I give full praise to such noble for- 
giveness ; but I am no noble, and I do not sympathise 
with it. One word more if this were the sole act 


26 o 


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of fraud and violence that this bandit baron had com- 
mitted, your prayers should plead for him ; but is not 
his life notorious? Has he not been from boyhood 
the terror and disgrace of Rome ! How many ma- 
trons violated, merchants pillaged, peaceful men stilet- 
toed in the daylight, rise in dark witness against the 
prisoner? And for such a man do I live to hear an 
aged prince and a pope’s vicar plead for mercy ? — Fie, 
fie ! But I will be even with ye. The next poor man 
whom the law sentences to death, for your sake will I 
pardon.” 

Raimond again drew aside the Tribune, while Colon- 
na struggled to suppress his rage. 

“ My friend,” said the Bishop, “ the nobles will feel 
this as an insult to their whole order; the very plead- 
ing of Orsini’s worst foe must convince thee of this. 
Martino’s blood will seal their reconciliation with each 
other, and they will be as one man against thee.” 

“ Be it so ; with God and the People on my side, I 
will dare, though a Roman, to be just. The bell ceases 
— you are already too late.” So saying, Rienzi threw 
open the casement; and by the Staircase of the Lion 
rose a gibbet from which swung with a creaking 
sound, arrayed in his patrician robes, the yet palpi- 
tating corpse of Martino di Porto. 

“ Behold ! ” said the Tribune, sternly, “ thus die all 
robbers. For traitors , the same law has the axe and 
the scaffold ! ” 

Raimond drew back and turned pale. Not so the 
veteran noble. Tears of wounded pride started from 
his eyes ; he approached, leaning on his staff, to Rienzi, 
touched him on his shoulder, and said, — 

“ Tribune, a judge has lived to envy his victim ! ” 

Rienzi turned with an equal pride to the Baron. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 261 


“We forgive idle words in the aged. My Lord, 
have you done with us ? — we would be alone.” 

“ Give me thy arm, Raimond,” said Stephen. 
“Tribune — farewell. Forget that the Colonna sued 
thee, — an easy task, methinks; for, wise as you are, 
you forget what every one else can remember.” 

“ Ah, my Lord, what ? ” 

“ Birth, Tribune, birth — that’s all! ” 

“ The Signor Colonna has taken up my old calling, 
and turned a wit,” returned Rienzi, with an indifferent 
and easy tone. 

Then following Raimond and Stephen with his eyes, 
till the door closed upon them, he muttered, “ Insolent ! 
were it not for Adrian, thy gray beard should not bear 
thee harmless. Birth ! what Colonna would not boast 
himself, if he could, the grandson of an emperor? — 
Old man, there is danger in thee which must be 
watched.” With that he turned musingly towards the 
casement, and again that grisly spectacle of death met 
his eye. The people below, assembled in large con- 
course, rejoiced at the execution of one whose whole 
life had been infamy and rapine — but who had seemed 
beyond justice — with all the fierce clamour that marks 
the exultation of the rabble over a crushed foe. And 
where Rienzi stood, he heard their shouts of “ Long 
live the Tribune, the just judge, Rome’s liberator!” 
But at that time other thoughts deafened his senses to 
the popular enthusiasm. 

“ My poor brother ! ” he said, with tears in his eyes, 
“ it was owing to this man’s crimes — and to a crime 
almost similar to that for which he has now suffered 
— that thou wert entrained to the slaughter; and they 
who had no pity for the lamb, clamour for compassion 
to the wolf! Ah, wert thou living now, how these 


262 


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proud heads would bend to thee ; though dead, thou 
wert not worthy of a thought. God rest thy gentle 
soul, and keep my ambition pure as it was when we 
walked at twilight, side by side together ! ” 

The Tribune shut the casement, and turning away, 
sought the chamber of Nina. On hearing his step 
without, she had already risen from the couch, her 
eyes sparkling, her bosom heaving; and as he entered, 
she threw herself on his neck, and murmured as she 
nestled to his breast, — “ Ah, the hours since we 
parted ! ” 

It was a singular thing to see that proud lady, proud 
of her beauty, her station, her new honours ; — whose 
gorgeous vanity was already the talk of Rome, and 
the reproach to Rienzi, — how suddenly and mirac- 
ulously she seemed changed in his presence ! Blush- 
ing and timid, all pride in herself seemed merged in 
her proud love for him. No woman ever loved to the 
full extent of the passion, who did not venerate where 
she loved, and who did not feel humbled (delighted 
in that humility) by her exaggerated and overweening 
estimate of the superiority of the object of her worship. 

And it might be the consciousness of this distinction 
between himself and all other created things, which 
continued to increase the love of the Tribune to his 
bride, to blind him to her failings towards others, and 
to indulge her in a magnificence of parade, which, 
though to a certain point politic to assume, was car- 
ried to an extent which, if it did not conspire to pro- 
duce his downfall, has served the Romans with an 
excuse for their own cowardice and desertion, and his- 
torians with a plausible explanation of causes they had 
not the industry to fathom. Rienzi returned his wife’s 
caresses with an equal affection, and bending down to 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 263 

her beautiful face, the sight was sufficient to chase 
from his brow the emotions, whether severe or sad, 
which had lately darkened its broad expanse. 

“ Thou has not been abroad this morning, Nina ! ” 

“ No, the heat was oppressive. But nevertheless, 
Cola, I have not lacked company — half the matronage 
of Rome has crowded the palace.” 

“ Ah, I warrant it. — But yon boy, is he not a new 
face?” 

“ Hush, Cola, speak to him kindly, I entreat : of his 
story anon. Angelo, approach. You see your new 
master, the Tribune of Rome.” 

Angelo approached with a timidity not his wont, for 
an air of majesty was at all times natural to Rienzi, 
and since his power it had naturally taken a graver 
and austerer aspect, which impressed those who ap- 
proached him, even the ambassadors of princes, with 
a certain involuntary awe. The Tribune smiled at the 
effect he saw he had produced, and being by temper 
fond of children, and affable to all but the great, he 
hastened to dispel it. He took the child affectionately 
in his arms, kissed him, and bade him welcome. 

“ May we have a son as fair ! ” he whispered to Nina, 
who blushed, and turned away. 

“ Thy name, my little friend? ” 

“ Angelo Villani.” 

“ A Tuscan name. There is a man of letters at 
Florence, doubtless writing our annals from hearsay 
at this moment, called Villani. Perhaps akin to thee ? ” 

“ I have no kin,” said the boy, bluntly ; “ and there- 
fore I shall the better love the Signora and honour 
you, if you will let me. I am Roman — all the Roman 
boys honour Rienzi.” 

“Do they, my brave lad?” said the Tribune, col- 


264 


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ouring with pleasure ; “ that is a good omen of my 
continued prosperity.” He put down the boy, and 
threw himself on the cushions, while Nina placed her- 
self on a kind of low stool beside him. 

“ Let us be alone/’ said he ; and Nina motioned to 
the attendant maidens to withdraw. 

“ Take my new page with you,” said she ; “ he is 
yet, perhaps, too fresh from home to enjoy the com- 
pany of* his giddy brethren.” 

When they were alone, Nina proceeded to narrate 
to Rienzi the adventure of the morning; but though 
he seemed outwardly to listen, his gaze was on va- 
cancy, and he was evidently abstracted and self-ab- 
sorbed. At length, as she concluded, he said, “ Well, 
Nina, you have acted as ever, kindly and nobly. Let 
us to other themes. I am in danger.” 

“ Danger ! ” echoed Nina, turning pale. 

“ Why, the word must not appal you — you have a 
spirit like mine, that scorns fear; and, for that reason, 
Nina, in all Rome you are my only confidante. It was 
not only to glad me with thy beauty, but to cheer me 
with thy counsel, to support me with thy valour, that 
Heaven gave me thee as^a helpmate.” 

“ Now, our Lady bless thee for those words! ” said 
Nina, kissing the hand that hung over her shoulder; 
“ and if I started at the word danger, it was but the 
woman’s thought of thee, — an unworthy thought, my 
Cola, for glory and danger go together. And I am 
as ready to share the last as the first. If the hour of 
trial ever come, none of thy friends shall be so faithful 
to thy side as this weak form but undaunted heart.” 

“ I know it, my own Nina ; I know it,” said Rienzi, 
rising, and pacing the chamber with large and rapid 
strides. “ Now listen to me. Thou knowest that to 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 265 


govern in safety, it is my policy as my pride to govern 
justly. To govern justly is an awful thing, when 
mighty barons are the culprits. Nina, for an open 
and audacious robbery, our court has sentenced Mar- 
tin of the Orsini, the Lord of Porto, to death. His 
corse swings now on the Staircase of the Lion.” 

“ A dreadful doom ! ” said Nina, shuddering. 

“ True ; but by his death thousands of poor and 
honest men may live in peace. It is not that which 
troubles me : the Barons resent the deed, as an insult 
to them that law should touch a noble. They will rise 
— they will rebel. I foresee the storm — not the spell 
to allay it.” 

Nina paused a moment, — “ They have taken,” she 
then said, “ a solemn oath on the Eucharist not to bear 
arms against thee.” 

“ Perjury is a light addition to theft and murder,” 
answered Rienzi, with his sarcastic smile. 

“ But the people are faithful.” 

“ Yes, but in a civil war (which the saints fore- 
fend!) those combatants are the stanchest who have 
no home but their armour, no calling but the sword. 
The trader will not leave his trade at the toll of a bell 
every day; but the Baron’s soldiery are ready at all 
hours.” 

“ To be strong,” said Nina, — who summoned to the 
councils of her lord, shewed an intellect not unworthy 
of the honour, — “ to be strong in dangerous times, 
authority must seem strong. By shewing no fear, you 
may prevent the cause of fear.” 

“ My own thought ! ” returned Rienzi, quickly. 
“ You know that half my power with these Barons is 
drawn from the homage rendered to me by foreign 
states. When from every city in Italy the ambas- 


266 


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sadors of crowned princes seek the alliance of the 
Tribune, they must veil their resentment at the rise of 
the Plebeian. On the other hand, to be strong abroad 
I must seem strong at home : the vast design I have 
planned, and, as by a miracle, begun to execute, will 
fail at once if it seem abroad to be intrusted to an un- 
steady and fluctuating power. That design ” (con- 
tinued Rienzi, pausing, and placing his hand on a 
marble bust of the young Augustus) “ is greater .than 
his, whose profound yet icy soul united Italy in sub- 
jection, — for it would unite Italy in freedom ; — yes ! 
could we but form one great federative league of all 
the States of Italy, each governed by its own laws, but 
united for mutual and common protection against the 
Attilas of the North, with Rome for their Metropolis 
and their Mother, this age and this brain would have 
wrought an enterprise which men should quote till the 
sound of the last trump ! ” 

“ I know thy divine scheme,” said Nina, catching 
his enthusiasm ; “ and what if there be danger in at- 
taining it ? Have we not mastered the greatest danger 
in the first step ? ” 

“ Right, Nina, right ! Heaven ” (and the Tribune, 
who ever recognised, in his own fortunes, the agency 
of the hand above, crossed himself reverently) “ will 
preserve him to whom it hath vouchsafed such lofty 
visions of the future redemption of the Land of the true 
Church, and the liberty and advancement of its chil- 
dren ! This I trust : already many of the cities of Tus- 
cany have entered into treaties for the formation of this 
league; nor from a single tyrant, save John di Vico, 
have I received aught but fair words and flattering 
promises. The time seems ripe for the grand stroke 
of all.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 267 

“And what is that?” demanded Nina, wonder- 
ingly. 

“ Defiance to all foreign interference. By what 
right does a synod of stranger princes give Rome a 
king in some Teuton Emperor? Rome’s people alone 
should choose Rome’s governor ;-j-and shall we cross 
the Alps to render the title of our master to the de- 
scendants of the Goth ? ” 

Nina was silent : the custom of choosing the sov- 
ereign by a diet beyond the Rhine, reserving only the 
ceremony of his subsequent coronation for the mock 
assent of the Romans, however degrading to that 
people, and however hostile to all notions of sub- 
stantial independence, was so unquestioned at that 
time, that Rienzi’s daring suggestion left her amazed 
and breathless, prepared as she was for any scheme, 
however extravagantly bold. 

“ How ! ” said she, after a long pause; “ do I under- 
stand aright? Can you mean defiance to the Em- 
peror? ” 

“ Why, listen : at this moment there are two pre- 
tenders to the throne of Rome — to the imperial crown 
of Italy — a Bohemian and a Bavarian. To their elec- 
tion our assent — Rome’s assent — is not requisite — not 
asked. Can we be called free — can we boast our- 
selves republican — when a stranger and a barbarian 
is thus thrust upon our necks? No, we will be free in 
reality as in name. Besides,” (continued the Tribune, 
in a calmer tone,) “ this seems to me politic as well 
as daring. The people incessantly demand wonders 
from me : how can I more nobly dazzle, more virtu- 
ously win them, than by asserting their inalienable 
right to choose their own rulers? The daring will 
awe the Barons, and foreigners themselves ; it will give 


268 


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a startling example to all Italy; it will be the first 
brand of an universal blaze. It shall be done, and 
with a pomp that befits the deed ! ” 

“ Cola,” said Nina, hesitatingly, “ your eagle spirit 
often ascends where mine flags to follow; yet be not 
over bold.” 

“ Nay, did you not, a moment since, preach a dif- 
ferent doctrine? To be strong, was I not to seem 
strong ? ” 

“ May fate preserve you ! ” said Nina, with a fore- 
boding sigh. 

“ Fate ! ” cried Rienzi ; “ there is no fate ! Between 
the thought and the success, God is the only agent; 
and ” (he added with a voice of deep solemnity) “ I 
shall not be deserted. Visions by night, even while 
thine arms are around me ; omens and impulses, stir- 
ring and divine, by day, even in the midst of the living 
crowd — encourage my path, and point my goal. Now, 
even now, a voice seems to whisper in my ear — ‘ Pause 
not ; tremble not ; waver not ; — for the eye of the All- 
Seeing is upon thee, and the hand of the All-Powerful 
shall protect ! * ” 

As Rienzi thus spoke, his face grew pale, his hair 
seemed to bristle, his tall and proud form trembled 
visibly, and presently he sunk down on a seat, and 
covered his face with his hands. 

An awe crept over Nina, though not unaccustomed 
to such strange and preternatural emotions, which ap- 
peared yet the more singular in one who in common 
life was so calm, stately, and self-possessed. But with 
every increase of prosperity and power, those emo- 
tions seemed to increase in their fervour, as if in such 
increase the devout and overwrought superstition of 
the Tribune recognised additional proof of a myste- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 269 

rious guardianship mightier than the valour or art of 
man. 

She approached fearfully, and threw her arms 
around him, but without speaking. 

Ere yet the Tribune had well recovered himself, a 
slight tap at the door was heard, and the sound seemed 
at once to recall his self-possession. 

“ Enter,” he said, lifting his face, to which the 
wonted colour slowly returned. 

An officer, half-opening the door, announced that 
the person he had sent for waited his leisure. 

“ I come ! — Core of my heart,” (he whispered to 
Nina,) “ we will sup alone to-night, and will converse 
more on these matters : ” so saying, with somewhat 
less than his usual loftiness of mien, he left the room, 
and sought his cabinet, which lay at the other side of 
the reception chamber. Here he found Cecco del 
Vecchio. 

“ How, my bold fellow,” said the Tribune, assuming 
with wonderful ease that air of friendly equality which 
he always adopted with those of the lower class, and 
which made a striking contrast with the majesty, no 
less natural, which marked his manner to the great. 
“ How now, my Cecco ! Thou bearest thyself bravely, 
I see, during these sickly heats; we labourers — for 
both of us labour, Cecco — are too busy to fall ill as the 
idle do, in the summer, or the autumn, of Roman skies. 
I sent for thee, Cecco, because I would know how thy 
fellow-craftsmen are like to take the Orsini’s execu- 
tion.” 

“ Oh ! Tribune,” replied the artificer, who, now 
familiarised with Rienzi, had lost much of his earlier 
awe of him, and who regarded the Tribune’s power as 
partly his own creation ; “ they are already out of their 


270 


RIENZI 


honest wits, at your courage in punishing the great 
men as you would the small.” 

“ So ; — I am repaid ! But hark you, Cecco, it will 
bring, perhaps, hot work upon us. Every Baron will 
dread lest it be his turn next, and dread will make 
them bold, like rats in despair. We may have to fight 
for the Good Estate.” 

“ With all my heart, Tribune,” answered Cecco, 
gruffly. “ I, for one, am no craven.” 

“ Then keep the same spirit in all your meetings 
with the artificers. I fight for the people. The 
people at a pinch must fight with me.” 

“ They will,” replied Cecco ; “ they will ! ” 

“ Cecco, this city is under the spiritual dominion of 
the Pontiff — so be it — it is an honour, not a burthen. 
But the temporal dominion, my friend, should be with 
Romans only. Is it not a disgrace to Republican 
Rome, that while we now speak, certain barbarians, 
whom we never heard of, should be deciding beyond 
the Alps on the merits of two sovereigns whom we 
never saw? Is not'this a thing to be resisted? An 
Italian city, — what hath it to do with a Bohemian Em- 
peror ? ” 

“ Little eno’, St. Paul knows ! ” said Cecco. 

“ Should it not be a claim questioned? ” 

“ I think so ! ” replied the smith. 

“ And if found an outrage on our ancient laws, 
should it not be a claim resisted ? ” 

“ Not a doubt of it.” 

“Well, go to! The archives assure me that never 
was Emperor lawfully crowned but by the free votes 
of the people. We never chose Bohemian or Bava- 
rian.” 

“ But, on the contrary, whenever these Northmen 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 271 

come hither to be crowned, we try to drive them away 
with stones and curses, — for we are a people, Tribune, 
that love our liberties.” 

“ Go back to your friends — see — address them, say 
that your Tribune will demand of these pretenders to 
Rome the right to her throne. Let them not be 
mazed or startled, but support me when the occasion 
comes.” 

“ I am glad of this,” quoth the huge smith ; “ for 
our friends have grown a little unruly of late, and 
say ” 

“ What do they say ? ” 

“ That it is true you have expelled the ban- 
ditti, and curb the Barons, and administer justice 
fairly ; — ” 

“ Is not that miracle enough for the space of some 
two or three short months ? ” 

“ Why, they say it would have been more than 
enough in a noble ; but you, being raised from the 
people, and having such gifts and so forth, might do 
yet more. It is now three weeks since they have had 
any new thing to talk about ; but Orsini’s execution 
to-day will cheer them a bit.” 

“ Well, Cecco, well,” said the Tribune, rising, “ they 
shall have more anon to feed their mouths with. So 
you think they love me not quite so well as they did 
some three weeks back ? ” 

“ I say not so,” answered Cecco. “ But we Romans 
are an impatient people.” 

' “ Alas, yes ! ” 

“ However, they will no doubt stick close enough to 
you; provided, Tribune, you don’t put any new tax 
upon them.” 

“ Ha ! But if, in order to be free, it be necessary to 


272 


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fight — if to fight, it be necessary to have soldiers, why 
then the soldiers must be paid : — won’t the people con- 
tribute something to their own liberties ; — to just laws, 
and safe lives ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” returned the smith, scratching his 
head as if a little puzzled ; “ but I know that poor men 
won’t be overtaxed. They say they are better off with 
you than with the Barons before, and therefore they 
love you. But men in business, Tribune, poor men 
with families, must look to their bellies. Only one 
man in ten goes to law — only one man in twenty is 
butchered by a Baron’s brigand ; but every man eats, 
and drinks, and feels a tax.” 

“ This cannot be your reasoning, Cecco ! ” said 
Rienzi, gravely. 

“ Why, Tribune, I am an honest man, but I have a 
large family to rear.” 

“ Enough ; enough ! ” said the Tribune quickly ; and 
then he added abstractedly as to himself, but aloud, — 
“ Methinks we have been too lavish ; these shows and 
spectacles should cease.” 

“What!” cried Cecco; “what, Tribune! — would 
you deny the poor fellows a holiday. They work hard 
enough, and their only pleasure is seeing your fine 
shows and processions ; and then they go home and 
say, — ‘ See, our man beats all the Barons ! what state 
he keeps ! ’ ” 

“ Ah ! they blame not my splendour, then ! ” 

“ Blame it ; no ! Without it they would be ashamed 
of you, and think the Buono Stato but a shabby con- 
cern.” 

“ You speak bluntly, Cecco, but perhaps wisely. 
The saints keep you ! Fail not to remember what I 
told you ! ” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


273 

“ No, no. It is a shame to have an Emperor thrust 
upon us; — so it is. Good evening, Tribune.” 

Left alone, the Tribune remained for some time 
plunged in gloomy and foreboding thoughts. 

“ I ar n "in the midst of a magician’s spell,” said he ; 
“ ^ I desist, the fiends tear me to pieces. What I have 
begun, that must I conclude. But this rude man 
shews me too well with what tools I work. For me 
failure is nothing. I have already climbed to a great- 
ness which might render giddy many a born prince’s 
brain. But with my fall — Rome, Italy, Peace, Justice, 
Civilisation — all fall back into the abyss of ages ! ” 

He rose; and after once or twice pacing his apart- 
ment, in which from many a column gleamed upon 
him the marble effigies of the great of old, he opened 
the casement to inhale the air of the now declining 
day. 

The Place of the Capitol was deserted save by the 
tread of the single sentinel. But still, dark and fear- 
ful, hung from the tall gibbet the clay of the robber 
noble ; and the colossal shape of the Egyptian lion rose 
hard by, sharp and dark in the breathless atmosphere. 

“ Dread statue ! ” thought Rienzi, “ how many un- 
whispered and solemn rites hast thou witnessed by 
thy native Nile, ere the Roman’s hand transferred 
thee hither — the antique witness of Roman crimes ! 
Strange ! but when I look upon thee I feel as if thou 
hadst some mystic influence over my own fortunes. 
Beside thee was I hailed the republican Lord of Rome ; 
beside thee are my palace, my tribunal, the place of 
my justice, my triumphs, and my pomp : — to thee my 
eyes turn from my bed of state : and if fated to die in 
power and peace, thou mayst be the last object my 

eyes will mark ! Or if myself a victim ” — he 

18 


274 


RIENZI 


paused — shrank from the thought presented to him — 
turned to a recess of the chamber — drew aside a cur- 
tain, that veiled a crucifix and a small table, on which 
lay a Bible and the monastic emblems of the skull and 
cross-bones — emblems, indeed, grave and irresistible, 
of the nothingness of power, and the uncertainty of 
life. Before these sacred monitors, whether to hum- 
ble or to elevate, knelt that proud and aspiring man ; 
and when he rose, it was with a lighter step and more 
cheerful mien than he had worn that day. 


CHAPTER III 

THE ACTOR UNMASKED 

“ In intoxication,” says the proverb, “ men betray 
their real characters.” There is a no less honest and 
truth-revealing intoxication in prosperity, than in 
wine. The varnish of power brings forth at once the 
defects and the beauties of the human portrait. 

The unprecedented and almost miraculous rise of 
Rienzi from the rank of the Pontiff’s official to the 
Lord of Rome, would have been accompanied with 
a yet greater miracle, if it had not somewhat dazzled 
and seduced the object it elevated. When, as in well- 
ordered states and tranquil times, men rise slowly, step 
by step, they accustom themselves to their growing 
fortunes. But the leap of an hour from a citizen to a 
prince — from the victim of oppression to the dispenser 
of justice — is a transition so sudden as to render dizzy 
the most sober brain. And, perhaps, in proportion to 
the imagination, the enthusiasm, the genius of the 
man, will the suddenness be dangerous — excite too 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 275 

extravagant a hope — and lead to too chimerical an 
ambition. The qualities that made him rise, hurry 
him to his fall ; and victory at the Marengo of his for- 
tunes, urges him to destruction at its Moscow. 

In his greatness Rienzi did not so much acquire 
new qualities, as develop in brighter light and deeper 
shadow those .which he had always exhibited. On 
the one hand he was just — resolute — the friend of the 
oppressed — the terror of the oppressor. His wonder- 
ful intellect illumined everything it touched. By root- 
ing out abuse, and by searching examination and wise 
arrangement, he had trebled the revenues of the city 
without imposing a single new tax. Faithful to his 
idol of liberty, he had not been betrayed by the wish 
of the people into despotic authority ; but had, as we 
have seen, formally revived, and established with new 
powers, the Parliamentary Council of the city. How- 
ever extensive his own authority, he referred its exer- 
cise to the people ; in their name he alone declared 
himself to govern, and he never executed any signal 
action without submitting to them its reasons or its 
justification. No less faithful to his desire to restore 
prosperity as well as freedom to Rome, he had seized 
the first dazzling epoch of his power to propose that 
great federative league with the Italian States which 
would, as he rightly said, have raised Rome to the 
indisputable head of European nations. Under his 
rule trade was secure, literature was welcome, art be- 
gan to rise. 

On the other hand, the prosperity which made more 
apparent his justice, his integrity, his patriotism, his 
virtues, and his genius, brought out no less glaringly 
his arrogant consciousness of superiority, his love of 
display, and the wild and daring insolence of his am- 


2 y6 


RIENZI 


bition. Though too just to avenge himself by retal- 
iating on the patricians their own violence, though, in 
his troubled and stormy tribuneship, not one unmer- 
ited or illegal execution of baron or citizen could be 
alleged against him, even by his enemies ; yet sharing, 
less excusably, the weakness of Nina, he could not 
deny his proud heart the pleasure of humiliating those 
who had ridiculed him as a buffoon, despised him as a 
plebeian, and who, even now slaves to his face, were 
cynics behind his back. “ They stood before him 
while he sate/’ says his biographer : “ all these Barons, 
bareheaded; their hands crossed on their breasts; 
their looks downcast ; — oh, how frightened they 
were ! ” a picture more disgraceful to the servile cow- 
ardice of the nobles than the haughty sternness of the 
Tribune. It might be that he deemed it policy to 
break the spirit of his foes, and to awe those whom it 
was a vain hope to conciliate. 

For his pomp there was a greater excuse: it was 
the custom of the time; it was the insignia and wit- 
ness of power; and when the modern historian taunts 
him with not imitating the simplicity of an ancient 
tribune, the sneer betrays an ignorance of the spirit 
of the age, and the vain people whom the chief magis- 
trate was to govern. No doubt his gorgeous festivals, 
his solemn processions, set off and ennobled — if 
parade can so be ennobled — by a refined and magnifi- 
cent richness of imagination, associated always with 
popular emblems, and designed to convey the idea of 
rejoicing for Liberty Restored, and to assert the state 
and majesty of Rome Revived — no doubt these spec- 
tacles, however otherwise judged in a more enlight- 
ened age and by closest sages, served greatly to aug- 
ment the importance of the Tribune abroad, and to 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 2 77 

dazzle the pride of a fickle and ostentatious populace. 
And taste grew refined, luxury called labour into 
requisition, and foreigners from all states were at- 
tracted by the splendour of a court over which pre- 
sided, under republican names, two sovereigns,* young 
and brilliant, the one renowned for his genius, the 
other eminent for her beauty. It was, indeed, a 
dazzling and royal dream in the long night of Rome, 
spoiled of her Pontiff and his voluptuous train — that 
holyday reign of Cola di Rienzi! And often after- 
wards it was recalled with a sigh, not only by the poor 
for its justice, the merchant for its security, but the 
gallant for its splendour, and the poet for its ideal and 
intellectual grace ! 

As if to show that it was not to gratify the more 
vulgar appetite and desire, in the midst of all his pomp, 
when the board groaned with the delicacies of every 
clime, when the wine most freely circled, the Tribune 
himself preserved a temperate and even rigid ab- 
stinence.! While the apartments of state and the 
chamber of his bride were adorned with a profuse lux- 
ury and cost, to his own private rooms he transported 
precisely the same furniture which had been familiar 

* Rienzi, speaking in one of his letters of his great enter- 
prise, refers it to the ardour of youth. The exact date of his 
birth is unknown; but he was certainly a young man at the 
time now referred to. His portrait in the Museo Barberino, 
from which his description has been already taken in the first 
book of this work, represents him as beardless, and, as far as 
one can judge, somewhere above thirty — old enough, to be 
sure, to have a beard; and seven years afterwards he wore a 
long one, which greatly displeased his naive biographer, who 
seems to consider it a sort of crime. The head is very re- 
markable for its stern beauty, and little, if at all, inferior to 
that of Napoleon; to which, as I before remarked, it has some 
resemblance in expression, if not. in feature. 

f Vita di Cola di Rienzi —The biographer praises the absti- 
nence of the Tribune. 


278 


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to him in his obscurer life. The books, the busts, the 
reliefs, the arms which had inspired him heretofore 
with the visions of the past, were endeared by asso- 
ciations which he did not care to foregd. 

But that which constituted the most singular feature 
of his character, and which still wraps all around him 
in a certain mystery, was his religious enthusiasm. 
The daring but wild doctrines of Arnold of Brescia, 
who, two centuries anterior, had preached reform, but 
inculcated mysticism, still lingered in Rome, and had 
in earlier youth deeply coloured the mind of Rienzi; 
and as I have before observed, his youthful propen- 
sity to dreamy thought, the melancholy death of his 
brother, his own various but successful fortunes, had 
all contributed to nurse the more zealous and solemn 
aspirations of this remarkable man. Like Arnold of 
Brescia, his faith bore a strong resemblance to the 
intense fanaticism of our own Puritans of the Civil 
War, as if similar political circumstances conduced to 
similar religious sentiments. He believed himself in- 
spired by awful and mighty commune with beings of 
the better world. Saints and angels ministered to his 
dreams ; and without this, the more profound and hal- 
lowed enthusiasm, he might never have been suf- 
ficiently emboldened by mere human patriotism, to 
his unprecedented enterprise : it was the secret of 
much of his greatness, — many of his errors. Like all 
men who are thus self-deluded .by a vain but not in- 
glorious superstition, united with, and coloured by, 
earthly ambition, it is impossible to say how far he 
was the visionary, and how far at times he dared to be 
the impostor. In the ceremonies of his pageants, in 
the ornaments of his person, were invariably intro- 
duced mystic and figurative emblems. In times of 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 2}g 

danger he publicly professed to have been cheered and 
directed by divine dreams ; and on many occasions the 
prophetic warnings he announced having been singu- 
larly verified by the event, his influence with the people 
was strengthened by a belief in the favour and inter- 
course of Heaven. Thus, delusion of self might tempt 
and conduce to imposition on others, and he might 
not scruple to avail himself of the advantage of seem- 
ing what he believed himself to be. Yet, no doubt 
this intoxicating credulity pushed him into extrava- 
gance unworthy of, and strangely contrasted by, his 
soberer intellect, and made him disproportion his vast 
ends to his unsteady means, by the proud fallacy, 
that where man failed, God would interpose. Cola di 
Rienzi was no faultless hero of romance. In him lay, 
in conflicting prodigality, the richest and most oppo- 
site elements of character ; strong sense, visionary 
superstition, an eloquence and energy that mastered 
all he approached, a blind enthusiasm that mastered 
himself ; luxury and abstinence, sternness and sus- 
ceptibility, pride to the great, humility to the low ; the 
most devoted patriotism and the most avid desire of 
personal power. As few men undertake great and 
desperate designs without strong animal spirits, so it 
may be observed, that with most who have risen to 
eminence over the herd, there is an aptness, at times, 
to a wild mirth and an elasticity of humour which often 
astonish the more sober and regulated minds, that are 
“ the commoners of life : ” and the theatrical grandeur 
of Napoleon, the severe dignity of Cromwell, are 
strangely contrasted by a frequent, nor always sea- 
sonable buffoonery, which it is hard to reconcile with 
the ideal of their characters, or the gloomy and por- 
tentous interest of their careers. And this, equally a 


28 o 


RIENZI 


trait in the temperament of Rienzi, distinguished his 
hours of relaxation, and contributed to that marvellous 
versatility with which his harder nature accommo- 
dated itself to all humours and all men. Often from 
his austere judgment-seat he passed to the social 
board an altered man ; and even the sullen Barons 
who reluctantly attended his feasts, forgot his public 
greatness in his familiar wit ; albeit this reckless 
humour could not always refrain from seeking its sub- 
ject in the mortification of his crest-fallen foes — a 
pleasure it would have been wiser and more generous 
to forego. And perhaps it was, in part, the prompting 
of this sarcastic and unbridled humour that made him 
often love to astonish as well as to awe. But even 
this gaiety, if so it may be called, taking an appear- 
ance of familiar frankness, served much to ingratiate 
him with the lower orders ; and, if a fault in the prince, 
was a virtue in the demagogue. 

To these various characteristics, now fully devel- 
oped, the reader must add a genius of designs so 
bold, of conceptions so gigantic and august, conjoined 
with that more minute and ordinary ability which mas- 
ters details; that with a brave, noble, intelligent, de- 
voted people to back his projects, the accession of the 
Tribune would have been the close of the thraldom 
of Italy, and the abrupt limit of the dark age of Europe. 
With such a people, his faults would have been insen- 
sibly checked, his more unwholesome power have re- 
ceived a sufficient curb. Experience familiarising him 
with power, would have gradually weaned him from 
extravagance in its display : and the active and mascu- 
line energy of his intellect would have found field for 
the more restless spirits, as his justice gave shelter to 
the more tranquil. Faults he had, but whether those 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 2S1 


faults or the faults of the people, were to prepare his 
downfall, is yet to be seen. 

Meanwhile, amidst a discontented nobility and a 
fickle populace, urged on by the danger of repose 
to the danger of enterprise ; partly blinded by his out- 
ward power, partly impelled by the fear of internal 
weakness ; at once made sanguine by his genius and 
his fanaticism, and uneasy by the expectations of the 
crowd, — he threw himself headlong into the gulf of the 
rushing Time, and surrendered his lofty spirit to no 
other guidance than a conviction of its natural buoy- 
ancy and its heaven-directed haven. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE ENEMY’S CAMP 

While Rienzi was preparing, in concert, perhaps, 
with the ambassadors of the brave Tuscan States, $ 
whose pride of country and love of liberty were well 
fitted to comprehend, and even share them, his 
schemes for the emancipation from all foreign yoke 
of the Ancient Queen, and the Everlasting Garden of 
the World ; the Barons, in restless secrecy, were re- 
volving projects for the restoration of their own power. 

One morning, the heads of the Savelli, the Orsini, 
and the Frangipani, met at the disfortified palace of 
Stephen Colonna. Their conference was warm and 
earnest — now resolute, now wavering, in its object — 
as indignation or fear prevailed. 

“ You have heard,” said Luca di Savelli, in his usual 
soft and womanly voice, “ that the Tribune has pro- 
claimed, that, the day after to-morrow, he will take 


282 


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the order of knighthood, and watch the night before 
in the church of the Lateran! He has honoured me 
with a request to attend his vigil.” 

“ Yes, yes, the knave. What means this new fan- 
tasy? ” said the brutal Prince of the Orsini. 

“ Unless it be to have the cavalier’s right to chal- 
lenge a noble,” said old Colonna, “ I cannot con- 
jecture. Will Rome never grow weary of this mad- 
man ? ” 

“ Rome is the more mad of the two,” said Luca di 
Savelli ; “ but methinks, in his wildness, the Tribune 
hath committed one error of which we may well avail 
ourselves at Avignon.” 

“ Ah,” cried the old Colonna, “ that must be our 
game ; passive here, let us fight at Avignon.” 

“ In a word then, he hath ordered that his bath shall 
be prepared in the holy porphyry vase in which once 
bathed the Emperor Constantine.” 

“ Profanation ! profanation ! ” cried Stephen. “ This 
is enough to excuse a bull of excommunication. The 
Pope shall hear of it. I will despatch a courier forth- 
with.” 

“ Better wait and see the ceremony,” said the Sa- 
velli ; “ some greater folly will close the pomp, be 
assured.” 

“ Hark ye, my masters,” said the grim Lord of the 
Orsini ; “ ye are for delay and caution ; I for prompt- 
ness and daring ; my kinsman’s blood calls aloud, and 
brooks no parley.” 

“ And what do ? ” said the soft-voiced Savelli ; 
“ fight without soldiers, against twenty thousand in- 
furiated Romans? not I.” 

Orsini sunk his voice into a meaning whisper. “ In 
Venice,” said he, “ this upstart might be mastered 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 283 

without an army. Think you in Rome no man wears 
a stiletto ? ” 

“ Hush,” said Stephen, who was of far nobler and 
better nature than his compeers, and who, justifying to 
himself all other resistance to the Tribune, felt his 
conscience rise against assassination ; “ this must not 
be — your zeal transports you.” 

“ Besides, whom can we employ ? scarce a German 
left in the city; and to whisper this to a Roman were 
to exchange places with poor Martino — Heaven take 
him, for he’s nearer heaven than ever he was before,” 
said the Savelli. 

“ Jest me no jests,” cried the Orsini, fiercely. 
“Jests on such a subject! By St. Francis I would, 
since thou lovest such wit, thou hadst it all to thyself ; 
and, methinks, at the Tribune’s board I have seen thee 
laugh at his rude humour as if thou didst not require 
a cord to choke thee.” 

“ Better to laugh than to tremble,” returned the 
Savelli. 

“ How ! darest thou say I tremble ? ” cried the 
Baron. 

“ Hush, hush,” said the veteran Colonna, with im- 
patient dignity. “We are not now in such holiday 
times as to quarrel amongst ourselves. Forbear, my 
lords.” 

“ Your greater prudence, Signor,” said the sarcas- 
tic Savelli, “ arises from your greater safety. Your 
house is about to shelter itself under the Tribune’s; 
and, when the Lord Adrian returns from Naples, the 
innkeeper’s son will be brother to your kinsman.” 

“ You might spare me that taunt,” said* the old 
noble, with some emotion. “ Heaven knows how bit- 
terly I have chafed at the thought ; yet I would Adrian 


284 


RIENZI 


were with us. His word goes far to moderate the 
Tribune, and to guide my own course, for my passion 
beguiles my reason ; and since his departure methinks 
we have been the more sullen without being the more 
strong. Let this pass. If my own son had wed the 
Tribune’s sister, I would yet strike a blow for the old 
constitution as becomes a noble, if I but saw that the 
blow would not cut off my own head.” 

Savelli, who had been whispering apart with Rinal- 
do Frangipani, now said — 

“ Noble Prince, listen to me. You are bound by 
your kinsman’s approaching connection, your vener- 
able age, and your intimacy with the Pontiff, to a 
greater caution than we are. Leave to us the man- 
agement of the enterprise, and be assured of our dis- 
cretion.” 

A young boy, Stefanello, who afterwards succeeded 
to the representation of the direct line of the Colonna, 
and whom the reader will once again encounter ere 
our tale be closed, was playing by his grandsire’s 
knees. He looked sharply up at Savelli, and said, 
“ My grandfather is too wise, and you are too timid. 
Frangipani is too yielding, and Orsini is too like a- 
vexed bull. I wish I were a year or two older.” 

“And what would you do, my pretty censurer?” 
said the smooth Savelli, biting his smiling lip. 

“ Stab the Tribune with my own stiletto, and then 
hey for Palestrina ! ” 

“ The egg will hatch a brave serpent,” quoth the 
Savelli. “ Yet why so bitter against the Tribune, my 
cockatrice ? ” 

“ Because he allowed an insolent mercer to arrest 
my uncle Agapet for debt. The debt had been owed 
these ten years; and though it is said that no house 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 285’ 

in Rome has owed more money than the Colonna, 
this is the first time I ever heard of a rascally creditor 
being allowed to claim his debt unless with doffed cap 
and bended knee. And I say that I would not live 
to be a Baron, if such upstart insolence is to be put 
upon me.” 

“ My child,” said old Stephen, laughing heartily, “ I 
see our noble order will be safe enough in your 
hands.” 

“ And,” continued the child, emboldened by the ap- 
plause he received, “ if I had time after pricking the 
Tribune, I would fain have a second stroke at ” 

“ Whom ? ” said the Savelli, observing the boy 
pause. 

“ My cousin Adrian. Shame on him, for dreaming 
to make one a wife whose birth would scarce fit her 
for a Colonna’s leman ! ” 

“ Go play, my child — go play,” said the old Colonna, 
as he pushed the boy from him. 

“ Enough of this babble,” cried the Orsini, rudely. 
“Tell me, old lord; just as I entered, I saw an old 
friend (one of your former mercenaries) quit the 
palace — may I crave his errand ? ” 

“ Ah, yes ; a messenger from Fra Moreale. I wrote 
to the Knight, reproving him for his desertion on our 
ill-starred return from Corneto, and intimating that 
five hundred lances would be highly paid for just now.” 

“ Ah,” said Savelli ; “ and what is his answer? ” 

“ Oh, wily and evasive : He is profuse in compli- 
ments and good wishes ; but says he is under fealty 
to the Hungarian king, whose cause is before Rienzi’s 
tribunal; that he cannot desert his present standard; 
that he fears Rome is so evenly balanced between 
patricians and the people, that whatever party would 


286 


RIENZI 


permanently be uppermost must call in a Podesta ; and 
this character alone the Provencal insinuates would 
suit him.” 

“ Montreal our Podesta ? ” cried the Orsini. 

“And why not?” said Savelli; “as good a well- 
born Podesta as a low-born Tribune ! But I trust we 
may do without either. Colonna, has this messenger 
from Fra Moreale left the city? ” 

“ I suppose so.” 

“ No,” said Orsini ; “ I met him at the gate, and 
knew him of old : it is Rodolf, the Saxon (once a 
hireling of the Colonna), who has made some widows 
among my clients in the good old day. He is a little 
disguised now; however, I recognised and accosted 
him, for I thought he was one who might yet become 
a friend, and I bade him await me at my palace.” 

“ You did well,” said the Savelli, musing, and his 
eyes met those of Orsini. Shortly afterwards a con- 
ference, in which much was said and nothing settled, 
was broken up ; but Luca di Savelli, loitering at the 
porch, prayed the Frangipani, and the other Barons, 
to adjourn to the Orsini’s palace. 

“ The old Colonna,” said he, “ is well-nigh in his 
dotage. We shall come to a quick determination 
without him, and we can secure his proxy in his son.” 

And this was a true prophecy, for half-an-hour’s con- 
sultation with Rodolf of Saxony sufficed to ripen 
thought into enterprise. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 287 


CHAPTER V 

THE NIGHT AND ITS INCIDENTS 

With the following twilight, Rome was summoned 
to the commencement of the most magnificent spec- 
tacle the Imperial City had witnessed since the fall of 
the Caesars. It had been a singular privilege, ar- 
rogated by the people of Rome, to confer upon their 
citizens the order of knighthood. Twenty years be- 
fore, a Colonna and an Orsini had received this popu- 
lar honour. Rienzi, who designed it as the prelude to 
a more important ceremony, claimed from the Ro- 
mans a similar distinction. From the Capitol to the 
Lateran swept, in long procession, all that Rome 
boasted of noble, of fair, and brave. First went horse- 
men without number, and from all the neighbouring 
parts of Italy, in apparel that well befitted the occa- 
sion. Trumpeters, and musicians of all kinds, fol- 
lowed, and the trumpets were of silver; youths bear- 
ing the harness of the knightly war-steed, wrought 
with gold, preceded the march of the loftiest matron- 
age of Rome, whose love for show, and it may be 
whose admiration for triumphant fame (which to 
women sanctions many offences,) made them forget 
the humbled greatness of their lords : amidst them 
Nina and Irene, outshining all the rest ; then came the 
Tribune and the Pontiff’s Vicar, surrounded by all 
the great Signors of the city, smothering alike resent- 
ment, revenge, and scorn, and struggling who should 
approach nearest to the monarch of the day. The 
high-hearted old Colonna alone remained aloof follow- 
ing at a little distance, and in a garb studiously plain. 


288 


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But his age, his rank, his former renown in war and 
state, did not suffice to draw to his gray locks and high- 
born mien a single one of the shouts that attended 
the meanest lord on whom the great Tribune smiled. 
Savelli followed nearest to Rienzi, the most obsequious 
of the courtly band ; immediately before the Tribune 
came two men ; the one bore a drawn sword, the other 
the pendone, or standard usually assigned to royalty. 
The Tribune himself was clothed in a long robe of 
white satin, whose snowy dazzle ( miri candoris) is 
peculiarly dwelt on by the historian, richly decorated 
with gold ; while on his breast were many of those 
mystic symbols I have before alluded to, the exact 
meaning of which was perhaps known only to the 
wearer. In his dark eye, and on that large tranquil 
brow, in which thought seemed to sleep, as sleeps 
a storm, there might be detected a mind abstracted 
from the pomp around ; but ever and anon he aroused 
himself, and conversed partially with Raimond or 
Savelli. 

“ This is a quaint game/’ said the Orsini, falling 
back to the old Colonna : “ but it may end tragically.” 

“ Methinks it may,” said the old man, “ if the Trib- 
une overhear thee.” 

Orsini grew pale. “ How — nay — nay, even if he 
did, he never resents words, but professes to laugh at 
our spoken rage. It was but the other day that some 
knave told him what one of the Annibaldi said of him 
— words for which a true cavalier would have drawn 
the speaker’s life’s blood ; and he sent for the An- 
nibaldi, and said, ‘ My friend, receive this purse of 
gold — court wits should be paid.’ ” 

“ Did Annibaldi take the gold ? ” 

“ Why, no ; the Tribune was pleased with his spirit, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 289 

and made him sup with him ; and Annibaldi says he 
never spent a merrier evening, and no longer wonders 
that his kinsman, Ricardo, loves the buffoon so.” 

Arrived now at the Lateran, Luca di Savelli fell also 
back, and whispered to Orsini ; the Frangipani, and 
some other of the nobles, exchanged meaning looks; 
Rienzi, entering the sacred edifice in which, according 
to custom, he was to pass the night watching his 
armour, bade the crowd farewell, and summoned them 
the next morning “ To hear things that might, he 
trusted, be acceptable to heaven and earth.” 

The immense multitude received this intimation with 
curiosity and gladness, while those who had been in 
some measure prepared by Cecco del Vecchio, hailed 
it as an omen of their Tribune’s unflagging resolution. 
The concourse dispersed with singular order and 
quietness ; it was recorded as a remarkable fact, that in 
so great a crowd, composed of men of all parties, none 
exhibited licence or indulged in quarrel. Some of 
the barons and cavaliers, among whom was Luca di 
Savelli, whose sleek urbanity and sarcastic humour 
found favour with the Tribune, and a few subordinate 
pages and attendants, alone remained; and, save a 
single sentinel at the porch, that broad space before 
the Palace, the Basilica and Fount of Constantine, 
soon presented a silent and desolate void to the mel- 
ancholy moonlight. Within the church, according to 
the usage of the time and rite, the descendant of the 
Teuton kings received the order of the Santo Spirito. 
His pride or some superstition equally weak, though 
more excusable, led him to bathe in the porphyry 
vase which an absurd legend consecrated to Constan- 
tine ; and this, as Savelli predicted, cost him dear. 
These appointed ceremonies concluded, his arms were 


19 


290 


RIENZI 


placed in that part of the church, within the columns 
of St. John. And here his state bed was prepared.* 

The attendant barons, pages and chamberlains, re- 
tired out of sight to a small side chapel in the edifice ; 
and Rienzi was left alone. A single lamp, placed be- 
side his bed, contended with the mournful rays of the 
moon, that cast through the long casements, over aisle 
and pillar, its “ dim religious light.” The sanctity of 
the place, the solemnity of the hour, and the solitary 
silence round, were well calculated to deepen the high- 
wrought and earnest mood of that son of fortune. 
Many and high fancies swept over his mind — now of 
worldly aspirations, now of more august but visionary 
belief, till at length, wearied with his own reflections, 
he cast himself on the bed. It was an omen which 
graver history has not neglected to record, that the 
moment he pressed the bed, new prepared for the 
occasion, part of it sank under him : he himself was 
affected by the accident, and sprung forth, turning 
pale and muttering; but, as if ashamed of his weak- 
ness, after a moment’s pause, again composed himself 
to rest, and drew the drapery round him. 

The moonbeams grew fainter and more faint as the 
time proceeded, and the sharp distinction between 
light and shade faded fast from the marble floor ; when 
from behind a column at the furthest verge of the 
building, a strange shadow suddenly crossed the sickly 
light — it crept on — it moved, but without an echo, — 
from pillar to pillar it flitted — it rested at last behind 
the column nearest to the Tribune’s bed — it remained 
stationary. 

* In a more northern country, the eve of knighthood would 
have been spent without sleeping. In Italy, the ceremony of 
watching the armour does not appear to have been so rigidly 
observed. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 291 

The shades gathered darker and darker round; the 
stillness seemed to deepen ; the moon was gone ; and, 
save from the struggling ray of the lamp beside Rienzi, 
the blackness of night closed over the solemn and 
ghostly scene. 

In one of the side chapels, as I have before said, 
which, in the many alterations the church has under- 
gone, is probably long since destroyed, were Savelli 
and the few attendants retained by the Tribune. Sa- 
velli alone slept not ; he remained sitting erect, breath- 
less and listening, while the tall lights in the chapel 
rendered yet more impressive the rapid changes of his 
countenance. 

“ Now pray Heaven,” said he, “ the knave miscarry 
not ! Such an occasion may never again occur ! He 
has a strong arm and a dexterous hand, doubtless ; 
but the other is a powerful man. The deed once done, 
I care not whether the doer escape or not ; if not, why 
we must stab him ! Dead men tell no tales. At the 
worst, who can avenge Rienzi? There is no other 
Rienzi ! Ourselves and the Frangipani seize the 
Aventine, the Colonna and the Orsini the other quar- 
ters of the city ; and without the master-spirit, we may 

laugh at the mad populace. But if discovered ; ” 

and Savelli, who, fortunately for his foes, had not 
nerves equal to his will, covered his face and shud- 
dered ; — “ I think I hear a noise ! — no — is it the wind ? 
—tush, it must be old Vico de Scotto, turning in his 
shell of mail ! — silent — I like not that silence ! No cry 
— no sound ! Can the ruffian have played us false ? 
or could he not scale the casement? It is but a child’s 
effort ; — or did the sentry spy him ? ” 

Time passed on : the first ray of daylight slowly 
gleamed, when he thought he heard the door of the 


292 


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church close. Savelli’s suspense became intolerable : 
he stole from the chapel, and came in sight of the 
Tribune’s bed — all was silent. 

“ Perhaps the silence of death,” said Savelli, as he 
crept back. 

Meanwhile the Tribune, vainly endeavouring to 
close his eyes, was rendered yet more watchful by the 
uneasy position he was obliged to assume — for the 
part of the bed towards the pillow having given way, 
while the rest remained solid, he had inverted the 
legitimate order of lying, and drawn himself up as he 
might best accommodate his limbs, towards the foot of 
the bed. The light of the lamp, though shaded by the 
draperies, was thus opposite to him. Impatient of his 
wakefulness, he at last thought it was this dull and 
flickering light which scared away the slumber, and 
was about to rise, to remove it further from him, when 
he saw the curtain at the other end of the bed gently 
lifted : he remained quiet and alarmed ; — ere he could 
draw a second breath, a dark figure interposed be- 
tween the light and the bed ; and he felt that a stroke 
was aimed against that part of the couch, which, but 
for the accident that had seemed to him ominous, 
would have given his breast to the knife. Rienzi 
waited not a second and better-directed blow ; as the 
assassin yet stooped, groping in the uncertain light, 
he threw on him all the weight and power of his large 
and muscular frame, wrenched the stiletto from the 
bravo’s hand, and dashing him on the bed, placed his 
knee on his breast. — The stiletto rose — gleamed — de- 
scended — the murtherer swerved aside, and -it pierced 
only his right arm. The Tribune raised, for a dead- 
lier blow, the revengeful blade. 

The assassin thus foiled was a man used to all form 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


293 


and shape of danger, and he did not now lose his pres- 
ence of mind. 

“ Hold ! ” said he ; “ if you kill me, you will die 
yourself. Spare me, and I will save you” 

“ Miscreant ! ” 

“ Hush — not so loud, or you will disturb your at- 
tendants, and some of them may do what I have failed 
to execute. Spare me, I say, and I will reveal that 
which were worth more than my life ; but call not — 
speak not aloud, I warn you ! ” 

The Tribune felt his heart stand still : in that lonely 
place, afar from his idolising people — his devoted 
guards — with but loathing barons, or, it might be, 
faithless menials, within call, might not the baffled 
murtherer give a wholesome warning ? — and those 
words and that doubt seemed suddenly to reverse their 
respective positions, and leave the conqueror still in 
the assassin’s power. 

“ Thou thinkest to deceive me,” said he, but in a 
voice whispered and uncertain, which shewed the 
ruffian the advantage he had gained : “ thou wouldst 
that I might release thee without summoning my at- 
tendants, that thou mightst a second time attempt my 
life.” 

“ Thou hast disabled my right arm, and disarmed 
me of my only weapon.” 

“ How earnest thou hither? ” 

“ By connivance.” 

“Whence this attempt?” 

“ The dictation of others.” 

“ If I pardon thee— — ” 

“ Thou shalt know all.” 

“ Rise,” said the Tribune, releasing his prisoner, but 
with great caution, and still grasping his shoulder with 


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one hand, while the other pointed the dagger at his 
throat. 

“ Did my sentry admit thee ? There is but one en- 
trance to the church, methinks.” 

“ He did not ; follow me, and I will tell thee more.” 

“ Dog ! thou hast accomplices ! ” 

“ If I have, thou hast the knife at my throat.” 

“ Wouldst thou escape?” 

“ I cannot, or I would.” 

Rienzi looked hard, by the dull light of the lamp, 
at the assassin. His rugged and coarse countenance, 
rude garb, and barbarian speech, seemed to him proof 
sufficient that he was but the hireling of others ; and 
it might be wise to brave one danger present and 
certain, to prevent much danger future and unfore- 
seen. Rienzi, too, was armed, strong, active, in the 
prime of life ; — and at the worst, there was no part 
of the building whence his voice would not reach those 
within the chapel, — if they could be depended upon. 

“ Shew me then thy place and means of entrance,” 
said he ; “ and if I but suspect thee as w.e move — 
thou diest. Take up the lamp.” 

The ruffian nodded ; with his left hand took up the 
lamp as he was ordered ; and with Rienzi’s grasp on 
his shoulder, while the wound from his right arm 
dropped gore as he passed, he moved noiselessly along 
the church — gained the altar — to the left of which was 
a small room for the use or retirement of the priest. 
To this he made his way. Rienzi’s heart misgave him 
a moment. 

“ Beware,” he whispered, “ the least sign of fraud, 
and thou art the first victim ! ” 

The assassin nodded again, and proceeded. They 
entered the room; and then the Tribune’s strange 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 295 

guide pointed to an open casement. “ Behold my 
entrance,” said he ; “ and if you permit me, my 
egress ” 

“ The frog gets not out of the well so easily as he 
came in, friend,” returned Rienzi, smiling. “ And 
now, if I am not to call my guards, what am I to do 
with thee ! ” 

“ Let me go, and I will seek thee to-morrow ; and 
if thou payest me handsomely, and promisest not to 
harm limb or life, I will put thine enemies and my 
employers in thy power.” 

Rienzi could not refrain from a slight laugh at the 
proposition, but composing himself, replied — “ And 
what if I call my attendants, and give thee to their 
charge ? ” 

“ Thou givest me to those very enemies and em- 
ployers, and in despair lest I betray them, ere the day 
dawn they cut my throat — or thine.” 

“ Methinks knave, I have seen thee before.” 

“ Thou hast. I blush not for name or country. I 
am Rodolf of Saxony ! ” 

“ I remember me : — servitor of Walter de Montreal. 
LfeT, then, is thy instigator ! ” 

“ Roman, no ! That noble Knight scorns other 
weapon than the open sword, and his own hand slays 
his own foes. Your pitiful, miserable, dastard Italians, 
alone employ the courage, and hire the arm, of others.” 

Rienzi remained silent. He had released hold of 
his prisoner, and stood facing him; every now and 
then regarding his countenance, and again relapsing 
into thought. At length, casting his eyes round the 
small chamber thus singularly tenanted, he observed 
a kind of closet, in which the priests’ robes, and some 
articles used in the sacred service, were contained. It 


RIENZI 


296 

suggested at once an escape from his dilemma: he 
pointed to it — 

“ There, Rodolf of Saxony, shalt thou pass some 
part of this night — a small penance for thy meditated 
crime ; and to-morrow, as thou lookest for life, thou 
wilt reveal all.” 

“ Hark ye, Tribune,” returned the Saxon, dog- 
gedly ; “ my liberty is in your power, but neither my 
tongue nor my life. If I consent to be caged in that 
hole, you must swear on the crossed hilt of the dagger 
that you now hold, that, on confession of all I know, 
you pardon and set me free. My employers are 
enough to glut your rage an you were a tiger. If 
you do not swear this ” 

“ Ah, my modest friend ! — the alternative ? ” 

“ I brain myself against the stone wall ! Better such 
a death than the rack ! ” 

“ Fool, I want not revenge against such as thou. 
Be honest and I swear that, twelve hours after thy con- 
fession, thou shalt stand safe and unscathed without 
the walls of Rome. So help me our Lord and his 
saints.” 

“ I am content ! — Donner und Hagel, I have lived 
long enough to care only for my own life, and the 
great captain's next to it; — for the rest, I reck not if 
ye southerns cut each other’s throats, and make all 
Italy one grave.” 

With this benevolent speech, Rodolf entered the 
closet ; but ere Rienzi could close the door, he stepped 
forth again — 

“ Hold,” said he : “ this blood flows fast. Help me 
to bandage it, or I shall bleed to death ere my con- 
fession.” 

“Per fede ,” said the Tribune, his strange humour 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 297 

enjoying the man’s cool audacity ; “ but, considering 
the service thou wouldst have rendered me, thou art 
the most pleasant, forbearing, unabashed, good fellow, 
I have seen this many a year. Give us thine own belt. 
I little thought my first eve of knighthood would have 
been so charitably spent ! ” 

“ Methinks these robes would make a better band- 
age,” said Rodolf, pointing to the priests’ gear sus- 
pended from the wall. 

“Silence, knave,” said the Tribune, frowning; “no 
sacrilege! Yet, as thou takest such dainty care of 
thyself, thou shalt have mine own scarf to accommo- 
date thee.” 

With that the Tribune, placing his dagger on the 
ground, while he cautiously guarded it with his foot, 
bound up the wounded limb, for which condescension 
Rodolf gave him short thanks ; resumed his weapon 
and lamp ; closed the door ; drew over it the long, 
heavy bolt without, and returned to his couch, deeply 
and indignantly musing over the treason he had so 
fortunately escaped. 

At the first gray streak of dawn he went out of the 
great door of the church, called the sentry, who was 
one of his own guard, and bade him privately, and 
now ere the world was astir, convey the prisoner to 
one of the private dungeons of the Capitol. “ Be 
silent,” said he : “ utter not a word of this to any one ; 
be obedient, and thou shalt be promoted. This done, 
find out the councillor, Pandulfo di Guido, and bid 
him seek me here ere the crowd assemble.” 

He then, making the sentinel doff his heavy shoes 
of iron, led him across the church, resigned Rodolf to 
his care, saw them depart, and in a few minutes after- 
wards his voice was heard by the inmates of the neigh- 


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bouring chapel; and he was soon surrounded by his 
train. 

He was already standing on the floor, wrapped in a 
large gown lined with furs ; and his piercing eye 
scanned carefully the face of each man that ap- 
proached. Two of the Barons of the Frangipani 
family exhibited some tokens of confusion and em- 
barrassment, from which they speedily recovered at 
the frank salutation of the Tribune. 

But all the art of Savelli could not prevent his 
features from betraying to the most indifferent eye the 
terror of his soul ; — and, when he felt the penetrating 
gaze of Rienzi upon him, he trembled in every joint. 
Rienzi alone did not, however, seem to notice his dis- 
order; and when Vico di Scotto, an old knight, from 
whose hands he received his sword, asked him how he 
had passed the night, he replied, cheerfully — 

"Well, well — my brave friend! Over a maiden 
knight some good angel always watches. Signor 
Luca di Savelli, I fear you have slept but ill : you seem 
pale. No matter ! — our banquet to-day will soon 
brighten the current of your gay blood.” 

“ Blood, Tribune ! ” said di Scotto, who was inno- 
cent of the plot : “ thou sayest blood, and lo ! on the 
floor are large gouts of it not yet dry.” 

“ Now, out on thee, old hero, for betraying my awk- 
wardness! I pricked myself with my own dagger in 
unrobing. Thank Heaven it hath no poison in its 
blade ! ” 

The Frangipani exchanged looks, — Luca di Savelli 
clung to a column for support, — and the rest of the 
attendants seemed grave and surprised. 

“ Think not of it, my masters,” said Rienzi : “ it is 
a good omen, and a true prophecy. It implies that 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 299 

he who girds on his sword for the good of the state, 
must be ready to spill his blood for it : that am I. No 
more of this- — a mere scratch : it gave more blood than 
I recked of from so slight a puncture, and saves the 
leech the trouble of the lancet. How brightly breaks 
the day! We must prepare to meet our fellow-citi- 
zens — they will be here anon. Ha, my Pandulfo — • 
welcome! — thou, my old friend, shalt buckle on this 
mantle ! '* 

And while Pandulfo was engaged in the task, the 
Tribune whispered a few words in his ear, which, by 
the smile on his countenance, seemed to the attendants 
one of the familiar jests with which Rienzi distin- 
guished his intercourse with his more confidential inti- 
mates 


CHAPTER VI 

THE CELEBRATED CITATION 

The bell of the great Lateran church sounded shrill 
and loud, as the mighty multitude, greater even than 
that of the preceding night, swept on. The appointed 
officers made way with difficulty for the barons and 
ambassadors, and scarcely were those noble visitors 
admitted ere the crowd closed in their ranks, poured 
headlong into the church, and took the way to the 
chapel of Boniface VIII. There, filling every cranny, 
and blocking up the entrance, the more fortunate of 
the press beheld the Tribune surrounded by the splen- 
did court his genius had collected, and his fortune had 
subdued. At length, as the solemn and holy music 
began to swell through the edifice, preluding the cele- 
bration of the mass, the Tribune stepped forth, and the 


300 


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hush of the music was increased by the universal and 
dead silence of the audience. His height, his air, his 
countenance, were such as always command the at- 
tention of crowds ; and at this time they received every 
adjunct from the interest of the occasion, and that 
peculiar look of intent yet suppressed fervour, which 
is, perhaps, the sole gift of the eloquent that Nature 
alone can give. 

“ Be it known,” said he, slowly and deliberately, “ in 
virtue of that authority, power, and jurisdiction, which 
the Roman people, in general parliament, have as- 
signed to us, and which the Sovereign Pontiff hath 
confirmed, that we, not ungrateful of the gift and grace 
of the Holy Spirit — whose soldier we now are — nor of 
the favour of the Roman people, declare, that Rome, 
capital of the world, and base of the Christian church; 
and that every City, State, and People of Italy, are 
henceforth free. By that freedom, and in the same 
consecrated authority, we proclaim, that the election, 
jurisdiction, and monarchy of the Roman empire ap- 
pertain to Rome and Rome’s people, and the whole of 
Italy. We cite, then, and summon personally, the 
illustrious princes, Louis Duke of Bavaria, and 
Charles King of Bohemia, who would style themselves 
Emperors of Italy, to appear before us, or the other 
magistrates of Rome, to plead and to prove their claim 
between this day and the Day of Pentecost. We cite 
also, and within the same term, the Duke of Sax- 
ony, the Prince of Brandenburg, and whosoever else, 
potentate, prince, or prelate, asserts the right of Elec- 
tor to the imperial throne — a right that, we find it 
chronicled from ancient and immemorial time, apper- 
tained only to the Roman people — and this in vindi- 
cation of our civil liberties, without derogation of the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 301 

spiritual power of the Church, the Pontiff, and the 
Sacred College.* Herald, proclaim the citation, at 
the greater and more formal length, as written and in- 
trusted to your hands, without the Lateran.” 

As Rienzi concluded this bold proclamation of the 
liberties of Italy, the Tuscan ambassadors, and those 
of some other of the free states, murmured low appro- 

* “ II tutto senza derogare all’ autorita della Chiesa, del 
Tapa e del Sacro Collegio.” So concludes this extraordinary 
citation, this bold and wonderful assertion of the classic inde- 
pendence of Italy, in the most feudal time of the fourteenth 
century. The anonymous biographer of Rienzi declares that 
the Tribune cited also the Pope and the Cardinals to reside 
in Rome. De Sade powerfully and incontrovertibly refutes 
this addition to the daring or the extravagance of Rienzi. 
Gibbon, however, who has rendered the rest of the citation 
in terms more abrupt and discourteous than he was warranted 
by any authority, copies the biographer’s blunder, and sneers 
at De Sade, as using arguments “ rather of decency than of 
weight.” Without wearying the reader with all the argu- 
ments of the learned Abbe, it may be sufficient to give the 
first two. 

1st. All the other contemporaneous historians that have 
treated of this event, G. Vallani, Hocsemius, the Vatican 
MSS. and other chroniclers, relating the citation of the Em- 
peror and Electors, say nothing of that of the Pope and Car- 
dinals; and the Pope (Clement VI.), in his subsequent accusa- 
tions of Rienzi, while very bitter against his citation of the 
Emperor, is wholly silent on what would have been to the 
Pontiff the much greater offence of citing himself and the 
Cardinals. 

2d. The literal act of this citation, as published formally in 
the Lateran, is extant in Hocsemius, (whence is borrowed, 
though not at all its length, the speech in the text of our 
present tale;) and in this document the Pope and his Cardi- 
nals are not named in the summons. 

Gibbon’s whole account of Rienzi is superficial and unfair. 
To the cold and sneering scepticism, which so often deforms 
the gigantic work of that great writer, allowing nothing for 
that sincere and urgent enthusiasm which, whether of liberty 
or religion, is the most common parent of daring action, the 
great Roman seems but an ambitious and fantastic madman. 
In Gibbon’s hands what would Cromwell have been? what 
Vane? what Hampden? The pedant, Julian, with his dirty 
person and pompous affectation, was Gibbon’s ideal of a 
great man. 


302 


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bation. The ambassadors of those States that affected 
the party of the Emperor looked at each other in silent 
amaze and consternation. The Roman Barons re- 
mained with mute lips and downcast eyes ; only over 
the aged face of Stephen Colonna settled a smile, half 
of scorn, half of exultation. But the great mass of 
the citizens were caught by words that opened so 
grand a prospect as the emancipation of all Italy : and 
the reverence of the Tribune’s power and fortune was 
almost that due to a supernatural being ; so that they 
did not pause to calculate the means which were to 
correspond with the boast. 

While his eye roved over the crowd, the gorgeous 
assemblage near him, the devoted throng beyond; — 
as on his ear boomed the murmur of thousands and 
ten thousands, in the space without, from before the 
Palace of Constantine (Palace now his own !) sworn 
to devote life and fortune to his cause ; in the flush 
of prosperity that yet had known no check ; in the 
zenith of power, as yet unconscious of reverse, the 
heart of the Tribune swelled proudly : visions of 
mighty fame and limitless dominion, — fame and do- 
minion, once his beloved Rome’s, and by him to be 
restored, rushed before his intoxicated gaze ; and in 
the delirious and passionate aspirations of the moment, 
he turned his sword alternately to the three quarters 
of the then known globe, and said, in an abstracted 
voice, as a man in a dream, “ In the right of the Ro- 
man people this too is mine ! ” * 

Low though the voice, the wild boast was heard by 
all around as distinctly as if borne to them in thunder. 
And vain it were to describe the various sensations 


* “ Questo e mio; 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


303 


it excited; the extravagance would have moved the 
derision of his foes, the grief of his friends, but for the 
manner of the speaker, which, solemn and command- 
ing? hushed for the moment even reason and hatred 
themselves in awe; afterwards remembered and re- 
peated, void of the spell they had borrowed from the 
utterer, the words met the cold condemnation of the 
well-judging ; but at that moment all things seemed 
possible to the hero of the people. He spoke as one 
inspired — they trembled and believed; and, as rapt 
from the spectacle, he stood a moment silent, his arm 
still extended — his dark dilating eye fixed upon space 
— his lip parted — his proud head towering and erect 
above the herd, — his own enthusiasm kindled that of 
the more humble and distant spectators ; and there 
was a deep murmur begun by one, echoed by the rest, 
“ The Lord is with Italy and Rienzi ! ” 

The Tribune turned, he saw the Pope’s Vicar as- 
tonished, bewildered, rising to speak. His sense and 
foresight returned to him at once, and, resolved to 
drown the dangerous disavowal of the Papal authority 
for this hardihood, which was ready to burst from Rai- 
mond’s lips, he motioned quickly to the musicians, and 
the solemn and ringing chant of the sacred ceremony 
prevented the Bishop of Orvietto all occasion of self- 
exoneration or reply. 

The moment the ceremony was over, Rienzi touched 
the Bishop, and whispered, “We will explain this to 
your liking. You feast with us at the Lateran. — Your 
arm.” Nor did he leave the good Bishop’s arm, nor 
trust him to other companionship, until to the stormy 
sound of horn and trumpet, drum and cymbal, and 
amidst such a concourse as might have hailed, on the 
same spot, the legendary baptism of Constantine, the 


304 


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Tribune and his nobles entered the great gates of the 
Lateran, then the Palace of the World. 

Thus ended that remarkable ceremony and that 
proud challenge of the Northern Powers, in behalf of , 
the Italian liberties, which, had it been afterwards suc- 
cessful, would have been deemed a sublime daring; 
which, unsuccessful, has been construed by the vulgar 
into a frantic insolence ; but which, calmly considering 
all the circumstances that urged on the Tribune, and 
all the power that surrounded him, was not, perhaps, 
altogether so imprudent as it seemed. And, even ac- 
cepting that imprudence in the extremest sense, — by 
the more penetrating judge of the higher order of 
character, it will probably be considered as the mag- 
nificent folly of a bold nature, excited at once by posi- 
tion and prosperity, by religious credulities, by pa- 
triotic aspirings, by scholastic visions too suddenly 
transferred from reverie to action, beyond that wise 
and earthward policy which sharpens the weapon ere 
it casts the gauntlet. 


CHAPTER VII • 

THE FESTIVAL 

The Festival of that day was far the most sumptuous 
hitherto known. The hint of Cecco del Vecchio, 
which so well depicted the character of his fellow- 
citizens, as yet it exists, though not to such excess, in 
their love of holyday pomp and gorgeous show, was 
not lost upon Rienzi. One instance of the universal 
banqueting (intended, indeed, rather for the people 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 305 

than the higher ranks) may illustrate the more than 
royal profusion that prevailed. From morn till eve, 
streams of wine flowed like a fountain from the nos- 
trils of the Horse of the great Equestrian Statue of 
Constantine. The mighty halls of the Lateran pal- 
ace, open to all ranks, were prodigally spread ; and the 
games, sports, and buffooneries of the time, were in 
ample requisition. Apart, the Tribunessa, as Nina was 
rather unclassically entitled, entertained the dames of 
Rome ; while the Tribune had so effectually silenced 
or conciliated Raimond, that the good Bishop shared 
his peculiar table — the only one admitted to that 
honour. As the eye ranged each saloon and hall, 
it beheld the space lined with all the nobility and 
knighthood — the wealth and strength — the learning 
and the beauty — of the Italian metropolis; mingled 
with ambassadors and noble strangers, even from be- 
yond the Alps;* — envoys not only of the free states 
that had welcomed the rise of the Tribune, but of the 
high-born and haughty tyrants who had first derided 
his arrogance, and now cringed to his power. There, 
were not only the ambassadors of Florence, of Sienna, 
of Arezzo (which last subjected its government to the 
Tribune,) of Todi, of Spoleto, and of countless other 
lesser towns and states, but of the dark and terrible 
Visconti, prince of Milan ; of Obizzo of Ferrara, and 
the tyrant rulers of Verona and Bologna; even the 
proud and sagacious Malatesta, lord of Rimini, whose 
arm afterwards broke for awhile the power of Mon- 
treal, at the head of his Great Company, had deputed 
his representative in his most honoured noble. John 
di Vico, the worst and most malignant despot of his 

* The simple and credulous biographer of Rienzi declares 
his fame to have reached the ears of the Soldan of Babylon. 


20 


RIENZI 


306 

day, who had sternly defied the arms of the Tribune, 
now subdued and humbled, was there in person; and 
the ambassadors of Hungary and of Naples mingled 
with those of Bavaria and Bohemia, whose sovereigns 
that day had been cited to the Roman Judgment 
Court. The nodding of plumes, the glitter of jewels 
and cloth of gold, the rustling of silks and jingle of 
golden spurs, the waving of banners from the roof, 
the sounds of minstrelsy from the galleries above, all 
presented a picture of such power and state — a court 
and chivalry of such show — as the greatest of the 
feudal kings might have beheld with a sparkling eye 
and a swelling heart. But at that moment the cause 
and lord of all that splendour, recovered from his late 
exhilaration, sat moody and abstracted, remembering 
with a thoughtful brow the adventure of the past night, 
and sensible that amongst his gaudiest revellers lurked 
his intended murtherers. Amidst the swell of the 
minstrelsy and the pomp of the crowd, he felt that 
treason scowled beside him ; and the image of the 
skeleton obtruding, as of old, its grim thought of 
death upon the feast, darkened the ruby of the wine, 
and chilled the glitter of the scene. 

It was while the feast was loudest that Rienzi’s page 
was seen gliding through the banquet, and whispering 
several of the nobles; each bowed low, but changed 
colour as he received the message. 

“ My Lord Savelli,” said Orsini, himself trembling, 
“ bear yourself more bravely. This must be meant in 
honour, not revenge. I suppose your summons cor- 
responds with mine.” 

“ He — he— asks — asks — me to supper at the Capi- 
tol ; a fri — endly meeting — (pest on his friendship !) — 
after the noise of the day.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 307 

“ The words addressed also to me ! ” said Orsini, 
turning to one of the Frangipani. 

Those who received the summons soon broke from 
the feast, and collected in a group, eagerly conferring. 
Some were for flight, but flight was confession ; their 
number, rank, long and consecrated impunity, reas- 
sured them, and they resolved to obey. The old 
Colonna, the sole innocent Baron of the invited guests, 
was also the only one who refused the invitation. 
“ Tush ! ” said he, peevishly ; “ here is feasting enough 
for one day ! Tell the Tribune that ere he sups I hope 
to be asleep. Gray hairs cannot encounter all this fever 
of festivity. ,, 

As Rienzi rose to depart, which he did early, for 
the banquet took place while yet morning, Raimond, 
eager to escape and confer with some of his spiritual 
friends, as to the report he should make to the Pon- 
tiff, was beginning his expressions of farewell, when 
the merciless Tribune said to him gravely — 

“ My Lord, we want you on urgent business at the 
Capitol. A prisoner — a trial — perhaps ” (he added 
with his portentous and prophetic frown) “ an execution 
waits us! Come.” 

“ Verily, Tribune,” stammered the good Bishop, 
“ this is a strange time for execution ! ” 

“ Last night was a time yet more strange. — Come.” 

There was something in the way in which the final 
word was pronounced, that Raimond could not resist. 
He sighed, muttered, twitched his robes, and followed 
the Tribune. As he passed through the halls, the 
company rose on all sides. Rienzi repaid their saluta- 
tions with smiles and whispers of frank courtesy and 
winning address. Young as he yet was, and of a 
handsome and noble presence, that took every ad- 


3°8 


RIENZI 


vantage from splendid attire, and yet more from an 
appearance of intellectual command in his brow and 
eye, which the less cultivated signors of that dark age 
necessarily wanted — he glittered through the court as 
one worthy to form, and fitted to preside over, it ; 
and his supposed descent from the Teuton Emperor, 
which, since his greatness, was universally bruited and 
believed abroad, seemed undeniably visible to the for- 
eign lords in the majesty of his mien and the easy 
blandness of his address. 

“ My Lord Prefect,” said he to a dark and sullen 
personage in black velvet, the powerful and arrogant 
John di Vico, prefect of Rome, “ we are rejoiced to 
find so noble a guest at Rome : we must repay the 
courtesy by surprising you in your own palace ere 
long ; — nor will you, Signor ” (as he turned to the en- 
voy from Tivoli,) “ refuse us a shelter amidst your 
groves and waterfalls ere the vintage be gathered. 
Methinks Rome, united with sweet Tivoli, grows rec- 
onciled to the Muses. Your suit is carried, Master 
Venoni: the council recognises its justice; but I re- 
served the news for this holyday — you do not blame 
me, I trust.” This was whispered, with a half-affec- 
tionate frankness, to a worthy citizen, who, finding 
himself amidst so many of the great, would have 
shrunk from the notice of the Tribune; but it was 
the policy of Rienzi to pay an especial and marked at- 
tention to those engaged in commercial pursuits. As, 
after tarrying a moment or two with the merchant, he 
passed on, the tall person of the old Colonna caught 
his eye — 

“ Signor,” said he, with a profound inclination of his 
head, but with a slight emphasis of tone, “ you will 
not fail us this evening.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


309 


“ Tribune ” began the Colonna. 

“We receive no excuse,” interrupted the Tribune, 
hastily, and passed on. 

He halted for a few moments before a small group 
of men plainly attired, who were watching him with 
intense interest; for they, too, were scholars, and in 
Rienzi’s rise they saw another evidence of that won- 
derful and sudden power which intellect had begun 
to assume over brute force. With these, as if abruptly 
mingled with congenial spirits, the Tribune relaxed 
all the gravity of his brow. Happier, perhaps, his 
living career — more unequivocal his posthumous re- 
nown — had his objects as his tastes been theirs! 

“ Ah, carissime! ” said he to one, whose arm he 
drew within his own, — “ and how proceeds thy inter- 
pretation of the old marbles ? — half unravelled ? I re- 
joice to hear it ! Confer with me as of old, I pray 
thee. To-morrow — no, nor the day after, but next 
week — we will have a tranquil evening. Dear poet, 
your ode transported me to the days of Horace; yet, 
methinks, we do wrong to reject the vernacular for the 
Latin. You shake your head? Well, Petrarch thinks 
with you : his great epic moves with the stride of a 
giant — so I hear from his friend and envoy, — and here 
he is. My Lselius, is that not your name with Pe- 
trarch? How shall I express my delight at his com- 
forting, his inspiring letter? Alas! he overrates not 
my intentions, but my power. Of this hereafter.” 

A slight shade darkened the Tribune’s brow at these 
words : but moving on, a long line of nobles and 
princes on either side, he regained his self-possession, 
and the dignity he had dropped with his former equals. 
Thus he passed through the crowd, and gradually dis- 
appeared. 


3io 


RIENZI 


“ He bears him bravely,” said one, as the revellers 
reseated themselves. “ Noticed you the we — the style 
royal?” 

“ But it must be owned that he lords it well,” said 
the ambassador of the Visconti : “ less pride would 
be cringing to his haughty court.” 

“ Why,” said a professor of Bologna, “ why is the 
Tribune called proud? I see no pride in him.” 

“ Nor I,” said a wealthy jeweller. 

While these, and yet more contradictory, comments 
followed the exit of the Tribune, he passed into the 
saloon, where Nina presided ; and here his fair person 
and silver tongue (“ S navis color atceque sententice,” ac- 
cording to the description of Petrarch) won him a 
more general favour with the matrons than he ex- 
perienced with their lords, and not a little contrasted 
the formal and nervous compliments of the good 
Bishop, who served him on such occasions with an ex- 
cellent foil. 

But as soon as these ceremonies were done, and 
Rienzi mounted his horse, his manner changed at once 
into a stern and ominous severity. 

“ Vicar,” said he, abruptly, to the Bishop, “ we 
might well need your presence. Learn that at the 
Capitol now sits the Council in judgment upon an 
assassin. Last night, but for Heaven’s mercy, I 
should have fallen a victim to a hireling’s dagger. 
Knew you aught of this ? ” 

And he turned so sharply on the Bishop, that the 
poor canonist nearly dropped from his horse in sur- 
prise and terror. 

“ I ! — ” said he. 

Rienzi smiled — “ No, good my Lord Bishop ! I see 
you are of no murtherer’s mould. But to continue : — 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 31 1 


that I might not appear to act in mine own cause, I 
ordered the prisoner to be tried in my absence. In 
his trial (you marked the letter brought me at our . 
banquet ?) ” 

“ Ay, and you changed colour/’ 

“ Well I might: in his trial, I say, he has confessed 
that nine of the loftiest lords of Rome were his in- 
stigators. They sup with me to-night! — Vicar, for- 
wards ! ” 


BOOK V 

THE CRISIS 


“ Questo ha acceso ’1 fuoco e la fiamma laquale non la par 
spotegnere.” — Vit. di Col. di Rienzi, lib. i. cap. 29. 

“ He has kindled fire and flames which he will not be able 
to extinguish .” — Life of Cola di Rienzi. 


CHAPTER I 

THE JUDGMENT OF THE TRIBUNE 

The brief words of the Tribune to Stephen Colonna, 
though they sharpened the rage of the proud old 
noble, were such as he did not on reflection deem it 
prudent to disobey. Accordingly, at the appointed 
hour, he found himself in one of the halls of the Capi- 
tol, with a gallant party of his peers. Rienzi received 
them with more than his usual graciousness. 

They sate down to the splendid board in secret un- 
easiness and alarm, as they saw that, with the excep- 
tion of Stephen Colonna, none, save the conspirators, 
had been invited to the banquet. Rienzi, regardless 
of their silence and abstraction, was more than usually 
gay : — the old Colonna more than usually sullen. 

“ We fear we have but ill pleased you, my Lord 
Colonna, by our summons. Once, methinks, we 
might more easily provoke you to a smile.” 

“ Situations are changed, Tribune, since you were 
my guest.” 


312 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 313 

“ Why, scarcely so. I have risen, but you have not 
fallen. Ye walk the streets day and night in security 
and peace; your lives are safe from the robber, and 
your palaces no longer need bars and battlements to 
shield you from your fellow-citizens. I have risen, 
but we all have risen — from barbarous disorder into civ- 
ilised life ! My Lord Gianni Colonna, whom we have 
made Captain over Campagna, you will not refuse a 
cup to the Buono Stato ; — nor think we mistrust your 
valour, when we say, that we rejoice Rome hath no 
enemies to attest your generalship.” 

“ Methinks,” quoth the old Colonna, bluntly, “ we 
shall have enemies enough from Bohemia and Bavaria, 
ere the next harvest be green.” 

“ And, if so,” replied the Tribune, calmly, “ foreign 
foes are better than civil strife.” 

“ Ay, if we have money in the treasury ; which is 
but little likely, if we have many more such holydays.” 

“ You are ungracious, my Lord,” said the Tribune ; 
“ and, besides, you are more uncomplimentary to 
Rome than to ourselves. What citizen would not part 
with gold to buy fame and liberty ? ” 

“ I know very few in Rome that would,” answered 
the Baron. “ But tell me, Tribune, you who are a 
notable casuist, which is the best for a state — that its 
governor should be over-thrifty or over-lavish ? ” 

“ I refer the question to my friend, Luca di Sa- 
velli,” replied Rienzi. “ He is a grand philosopher, 
and I wot well could explain a much knottier riddle, 
which we will presently submit to his acumen.” 

The Barons, who had been much embarrassed by 
the bold speech of the old Colonna, all turned their 
eyes to Savelli, who answered with more composure 
than was anticipated. 


314 


RIENZI 


“ The question admits a double reply. He who is 
born a ruler, and maintains a foreign army, governing 
by fear, should be penurious. He who is made ruler, 
who courts the people, and would reign by love, must 
win their affection by generosity, and dazzle their 
fancies by pomp. Such, I believe, is the usual maxim 
in Italy, which is rife in all experience of state wis- 
dom/’ 

The Barons unanimously applauded the discreet 
reply of Savelli, excepting only the old Colonna. 

“ Yet pardon me, Tribune,” said Stephen, “ if I 
depart from the courtier-like decision of our friend, 
and opine, though with all due respect, that even a 
friar’s coarse serge,* the parade of humility, would 
better become thee, than this gaudy pomp, the pa- 
rade of pride ! ” So saying, he touched the large 
loose sleeve fringed with gold, of the Tribune’s pur- 
ple robe. 

“ Hush, father ! ” said Gianni, Colonna’s son, col- 
ouring at the unprovoked rudeness and dangerous can- 
dour of the veteran. 

“ Nay, it matters not,” said the Tribune, with 
affected indifference, though his lip quivered, and his 
eye shot fire ; and then, after a pause, he resumed with 
an awful smile — “ If the Colonna love the serge of the 
friar, he may see enough of it ere we part. And now, 
my Lord Savelli, for my question, which I pray you 
listen to ; it demands all your wit. Is it best for a 
State’s Ruler to be over-forgiving, or over-just? Take 
breath to answer : you look faint — you grow pale — you 

* “ Vestimenta da Bizoco,” was the phrase used by Colon- 
na; a phrase borrowed from certain heretics ( bizocchi ) who 
affected extreme austerity; afterwards the word passed into 
a proverb. — See the comments of Zefirino Re, in Vit. di Cola 
di Rienzi. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 315 

tremble — -you cover your face ! Traitor and assassin, 
your conscience betrays you ! My Lords, relieve your 
accomplice, and take up the answer.” 

“ Nay, if we are discovered,” said the Orsini, 
rising in despair, “ we will not fall unavenged — die, 
tyrant ! ” 

He rushed to the place where Rienzi stood — for the 
Tribune also rose, — and made a thrust at his breast 
with his dagger; the steel pierced the purple robe, yet 
glanced harmlessly away — and the Tribune regarded 
the disappointed murtherer with a scornful smile. 

“ Till yesternight, I never dreamt that under the 
robe of state I should need the secret corselet,” said 
he. “ My Lords, you have taught me a dark lesson, 
and I thank ye.” 

So saying, he clapped his hands, and suddenly the 
folding doors at the end of the hall flew open, and dis- 
covered the saloon of the Council hung with silk of a 
blood-red, relieved by rays of white, — the emblem of 
crime and death. At a long table sate the councillors 
in their robes; at the bar stood a ruffian form, which 
the banqueters too well recognised. 

“ Bid Rodolf of Saxony approach ! ” said the 
Tribune. 

And led by two guards, the robber entered the hall. 

“ Wretch, you then betrayed us ! ” said one of the 
Frangipani. 

“ Rodolf of Saxony goes ever to the highest bid- 
der,” returned the miscreant, with a horrid grin. 
“ You gave me gold, and I would have slain your foe ; 
your foe defeated me ; he gives me life, and life is a 
greater boon than gold ! ” 

“ Ye confess your crime, my Lords ! Silent ! dumb ! 
Where is your wit, Savelli ? Where your pride, Rinal- 


RIENZI 


316 

do di Orsini ? Gianni Colonna, is your chivalry come 
to this ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” continued Rienzi, with deep and passionate 
bitterness; “ oh, my Lords, will nothing conciliate you 
— not to me, but to Rome? What hath been my sin 
against you and yours? Disbanded ruffians (such as 
your accuser) — dismantled fortresses — impartial law — 
what man, in all the wild revolutions of Italy, sprung 
from the people, ever yielded less to their licence? 
Not a coin of your coffers touched by wanton power, 
— not a hair of your heads harmed by private revenge. 
You, Gianni Colonna, loaded with honours, intrusted 
with command — you, Alphonso di Frangipani, en- 
dowed with new principalities, — did the Tribune re- 
member one insult he received from you as the Ple- 
beian? You accuse my pride; — was it my fault that 
ye cringed and fawned upon my power, — flattery on 
your lips, poison at your hearts? No, I have not 
offended you ; let the world know, that in me you 
aimed at liberty, justice, law, order, the restored 
grandeur, the renovated rights of Rome ! At these, the 
Abstract and the Immortal — not at this frail form, ye 
struck ; — by the divinity of these ye are defeated ; — 
for the outraged majesty of these, — criminals and vic- 
tims, — ye must die ! ” 

With these words, uttered with the tone and air 
that would have become the loftiest spirit of the 
ancient city, Rienzi, with a majestic step, swept from 
the chamber into the Hall of Council.* 

All that night the conspirators remained within that 

* The guilt of the Barons in their designed assassination 
of Rienzi, though hastily slurred over by Gibbon, and other 
modern writers, is clearly attested by Muratori, the Bolo- 
gnese Chronicle, Szc.—They even confessed the crime. (See 
Cron. Estens: Muratori, tom. xviii. p. 442.) 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 317 

room, the doors locked and guarded ; the banquet un- 
removed, and its splendour strangely contrasting the 
mood of the guests. 

The utter prostration and despair of these dastard 
criminals — so unlike the knightly nobles of France 
and England — has been painted by the historian in 
odious and withering colours. The old Colonna alone 
sustained his impetuous and imperious character. He 
strode to and fro the room like a lion in his cage, 
uttering loud threats of resentment and defiance ; and 
beating at the door with his clenched hands, de- 
manding egress, and proclaiming the vengeance of 
the Pontiff. 

The dawn came, slow and gray upon that agonised 
assembly: and just as the last star faded from the 
melancholy horizon, and by the wan and comfortless 
heaven, they regarded each other’s faces, almost spec- 
tral with anxiety and fear, the great bell of the Capitol 
sounded the notes in which they well recognised the 
chime of death ! It was then that the door opened, 
and a drear and gloomy procession of cordeliers, one 
to each Baron, entered the apartment ! At that spec- 
tacle, we are told, the terror of the conspirators was 
so great, that it froze up the very power of speech.* 
The greater part at length, deeming all hope over, re- 
signed themselves to their ghostly confessors. But 
when the friar appointed to Stephen approached that 
passionate old man, he waved his hand impatiently, 
and said — “ Tease me not ! tease me not ! ” 

“ Nay, son, prepare for the awful hour.” 

“ Son, indeed ! ” quoth the Baron. “ I am old 
enough to be thy grandsire ; and for the rest, tell him 


Diventarono si gelati, che non poteano favellare, : 


318 


RIENZI 


who sent thee, that I neither am prepared for death, 
nor will prepare ! I have made up my mind to live 
these twenty years, and longer too ; if I catch not my 
death with the cold of this accursed night.” 

Just at that moment a cry that almost seemed to 
rend the Capitol asunder was heard, as, with one 
voice, the multitude below yelled forth — 

“ Death to the conspirators ! — death ! death ! ” 

While this the scene in that hall, the Tribune issued 
from his chamber, in which he had been closeted with 
his wife and sister. The noble spirit of the one, the 
tears and grief of the other (who saw at one fell stroke 
perish the house of her betrothed,) had not worked 
without effect upon a temper, stern and just indeed, 
but naturally averse from blood ; and a heart capable 
of the loftiest species of revenge. 

He entered the Council, still sitting, with a calm 
brow, and even a cheerful eye. 

“ Pandulfo di Guido,” he said, turning to that citi- 
zen, “ you are right ; you spoke as a wise man and a 
patriot, when you said that to cut off with one blow, 
however merited, the noblest heads of Rome, would 
endanger the State, sully our purple with an indelible 
stain, and unite the nobility of Italy against us.” 

“ Such, Tribune, was my argument, though the 
Council have decided otherwise.” 

“ Hearken to the shouts of the populace, you cannot 
appease their honest warmth,” said the demagogue 
Baroncelli. 

Many of the Council murmured applause. 

“ Friends,” said the Tribune, with a solemn and 
earnest aspect, “ let not Posterity say that Liberty 
loves blood ; let us for once adopt the example and im- 
itate the mercy of our great Redeemer! We have 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 319 

triumphed — let us forbear; we are saved — let us for- 
give ! ” 

The speech of the Tribune was supported by Pan- 
dulfo, and others of the more mild and moderate pol- 
icy ; and after a short but animated discussion, the in- 
fluence of Rienzi prevailed, and the sentence of death 
was revoked, but by a small majority. 

“ And now,” said Rienzi, “ let us be more than just ; 
let us be generous. Speak — and boldly. Do any of 
ye think that I have been over-hard, over-haughty 
with these stubborn spirits? — I read your answer in 
your brows ! — I have ! Do any of ye think this error 
of mine may have stirred them to their dark revenge? 
Do any of you deem that they partake, as we do, of 
human nature, — that they are sensible to kindness, that 
they are softened by generosity, — that they can be 
tamed and disarmed by such vengeance as is dictated 
to noble foes by Christian laws ? ” 

“ I think,” said Pandulfo, after a pause, “ that it will 
not be in human nature, if the men you pardon, thus 
offending and thus convicted, again attempt your 
life ! ” 

“ Methinks,” said Rienzi, “ we must do even more 
than pardon. The first great Caesar, when he did not 
crush a foe, strove to convert him to a friend ” 

“ And perished by the attempt,” said Baroncelli, 
abruptly. 

Rienzi started and changed colour. 

“ If you would save these wretched prisoners, better 
not wait till the fury of the mob become ungovern- 
able,” whispered Pandulfo. 

The Tribune roused himself from his reverie. 

“ Pandulfo,” said he, in the same tone, “ my heart 
misgives me — the brood of serpents are in my hand — 


320 


RIENZI 


I do not strangle them — they may sting me to death, 
in return for my mercy — it is their instinct ! No mat- 
ter: it shall not be said that the Roman Tribune 
bought with so many lives his own safety : nor shall 
it be written upon my grave-stone, * Here lies the cow- 
ard, who did not dare forgive.’ What, ho! there, 
officers, unclose the doors! My masters, let us ac- 
quaint the prisoners with their sentence.” 

With that, Rienzi seated himself on the chair of 
state, at the head of the table, and the sun, now risen, 
cast its rays over the blood-red walls, in which the 
Barons, marshalled in order into the chamber, thought 
to read their fate. 

“ My Lords,” said the Tribune, “ ye have offended 
the laws of God and man ; but God teaches man the 
quality of mercy. Learn at last, that I bear a charmed 
life. Nor is he whom, for high purposes, Heaven 
hath raised from the cottage to the popular throne, 
without invisible aid and spiritual protection. If 
hereditary monarchs are deemed sacred, how much 
more one in whose power the divine hand hath writ 
its witness ! Yes, over him who lives but for his coun- 
try, whose greatness is his country’s gift, whose life 
is his country’s liberty, watch the souls of the just, and 
the unsleeping eyes of the sworded seraphim ! Taught 
by your late failure and your present peril, bid your 
anger against me cease ; respect the laws, revere the 
freedom of your city, and think that no state presents 
a nobler spectacle than men born as ye are — a patrician 
and illustrious order — using your power to protect 
your city, your wealth to nurture its arts, your chivalry 
to protect its laws ! Take back your swords — and the 
first man who strikes against the liberties of Rome, 
let him be your victim; even though that victim be 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 321 

the Tribune. Your cause has been tried — your sen- 
tence is pronounced. Renew your oath to forbear all 
hostility, private or public, against the government 
and the magistrates of Rome, and ye are pardoned — 
ye are free ! ” 

Amazed, bewildered, the Barons mechanically bent 
the knee : the friars who had received their confes- 
sions, administered the appointed oath ; and while, with 
white lips, they muttered the solemn words, .they 
heard below the roar of the multitude for their blood. 

This ceremony ended, the Tribune passed into the 
banquet-hall, which conducted to a balcony, whence 
he was accustomed to address the people ; and never, 
perhaps, was his wonderful mastery over the passions 
of an audience (ad persuadendum efficax dictator , quoque 
dulcis ac lepidus)* more greatly needed or more em- 
inently shown, than on that day; for the fury of the 
people was at its height, and it was long ere he suc- 
ceeded in turning it aside. Before he concluded, 
however, every wave of the wild sea lay hushed. — 
The orator lived to stand on the same spot, to plead 
for a life nobler than those he now saved, — and to 
plead unheard and in vain ! 

As soon as the Tribune saw the favourable moment 
had arrived, the Barons were admitted into the bal- 
cony : — in the presence of the breathless thousands, 
they solemnly pledged themselves to protect the Good 
Estate. And thus the morning which seemed to dawn 
upon their execution witnessed their reconciliation 
with the people. 

The crowd dispersed, the majority soothed and 
pleased; — the more sagacious, vexed and dissatisfied. 

* Petrarch of Rienzi. 

21 


322 


RIENZI 


“ He has but increased the smoke and the flame 
which he was not able to extinguish,” growled Cecco 
del Vecchio ; and the smith’s appropriate saying passed 
into a proverb and a prophecy. 

Meanwhile, the Tribune, conscious at least that he 
had taken the more generous course, broke up the 
Council, and retired to the chamber where Nina and 
his sister waited him. These beautiful young women 
had conceived for each other the tenderest affection. 
And their differing characters, both of mind and' 
feature, seemed by contrast to heighten the charms 
of both; as in a skilful jewellery, the pearl and diamond 
borrow beauty from each other. 

And as Irene now turned her pale countenance and 
streaming eyes from the bosom to which she had 
clung for support, the timid sister, anxious, doubtful, 
wistful ; — the proud wife, sanguine and assured, as if 
never diffident of the intentions nor of the power of 
her Rienzi : — the contrast would have furnished to a 
painter no unworthy incarnation of the Love that 
hopeth, and the Love that feareth, all things. 

“ Be cheered, my sweet sister,” said the Tribune, 
first caught by Irene’s imploring look ; “ not a hair 
on the heads of those who boast the name of him 
thou lovest so well is injured. — Thank Heaven,” as his 
sister, with a low cry, rushed into his arms, “ that it 
was against my life they conspired ! Had it been an- 
other Roman’s, mercy might have been a crime ! 
Dearest, may Adrian love thee half as well as I ; and 
yet, my sister and my child, none can know thy soft 
soul like he who watched over it since its first blossom 
expanded to the sun. My poor brother ! had he lived, 
your counsel had been his; and methinks his gentle 
spirit often whispers away the sternness which, other- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 323 


wise, would harden over mine. Nina, my queen, my 
inspirer, my monitor — ever thus let thy heart, mascu- 
line in my distress, be woman’s in my power; and be 
to me, with Irene, upon earth, what my brother is in 
heaven ! ” 

The Tribune, exhausted by the trials of the night, 
retired for a few hours to rest ; and as Nina, encircling 
him within her arms, watched over his noble counte- 
nance — care hushed, ambition laid at rest, its serenity 
had something almost of sublime. And tears of that 
delicious pride, which woman sheds for the hero of her 
dreams, stood heavy in the wife’s eyes, as she rejoiced 
more, in the deep stillness of her heart, at the preroga- 
tive, alone hers, of sharing his solitary hours, than in 
all the rank to which his destiny had raised her, and 
which her nature fitted her at once to adorn and to 
enjoy. In that calm and lonely hour she beguiled her 
heart by waking dreams, vainer than the sleeper’s ; and 
pictured to herself the long career of glory, the august 
decline of peace, which were to await her lord. 

And while she thus watched and thus dreamed, the 
cloud, as yet no bigger than a man’s hand, darkened 
the horizon of a fate whose sunshine was well-nigh 
past ! 


CHAPTER II 

THE FLIGHT 

Fretting his proud heart, as a steed frets on the bit, 
old Colonna regained his palace. To him, innocent of 
the proposed crime of his kin and compeers, the whole 
scene of the night and morning presented but one 
feature of insult and degradation. Scarce was he in 


324 


RIENZI 


his palace, ere he ordered couriers, in whom he knew 
he could confide, to be in preparation for his summons. 
“ This to Avignon,” said he to himself, as he con- 
cluded an epistle to the Pontiff. — “ We will see 
whether the friendship of the great house of the Colon- 
na will outweigh the frantic support of the rabbled 
puppet. — This to Palestrina — the rock is inaccessible ! 
—This to John di Vico, he may be relied upon, traitor 
though he be! — This to Naples; the Colonna will dis- 
own the Tribune’s ambassador, if he throw not up the 
trust and hasten hither, not a lover but a soldier! — 
And may this find Walter de Montreal ! Ah, a pre- 
cious messenger he sent us, but I will forgive all — 
all, for a thousand lances.” And as with trembling 
hands he twined the silk round his letters, he bade 
his pages invite to his board, next day, all the signors 
who had been implicated with him on the previous 
night. 

The Barons came — far more enraged at the disgrace 
of pardon, than grateful for the boon of mercy. Their 
fears combined with their pride; and the shouts of the 
mob, the whine of the cordeliers, still ringing in their 
ears, they deemed united resistance the only course left 
to protect their lives, and avenge their affront. 

To them the public pardon of the Tribune seemed 
only a disguise to private revenge. All they believed 
was, that Rienzi did not dare to destroy them in the 
face of day ; forgetfulness and forgiveness appeared to 
them as the means designed to lull their vigilance, 
while abasing their pride : and the knowledge of crime 
detected forbade them all hope of safety. The hand 
of their own assassin might be armed against them, 
or they might be ruined singly, one by one, as was 
the common tyrant-craft of that day. Singularly 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 325 

enough, Luca di Savelli was the most urgent for im- 
mediate rebellion. The fear of death made the cow- 
ard brave. 

Unable even to conceive the romantic generosity of 
the Tribune, the Barons were yet more alarmed when, 
the next day, Rienzi, summoning them one by one to 
a private audience, presented them with gifts, and bade 
them forget the past : excused himself rather than 
them, and augmented their offices and honours. 

In the Quixotism of a heart to which royalty was 
natural, he thought that there was no medium course ; 
and that the enmity he would not silence by death, 
he could crush by confidence and favours. Such con- 
duct from a born king to hereditary inferiors might 
have been successful ; but the generosity of one who 
has abruptly risen over his lords, is but the ostentation 
of insult. Rienzi in this, and, perhaps, in forgiveness 
itself, committed a fatal error of policy , which the dark 
sagacity of a Visconti, or, in later times, of a Borgia, 
would never have perpetrated. But it was the error 
of a bright and a great mind. 

Nina was seated in the grand saloon of the palace — 
it was the day of reception for the Roman ladies. 

The attendance was so much less numerous than 
usual that it startled her, and she thought there was a 
coldness and restraint in the manner of the visitors 
present, which somewhat stung her vanity. 

“ I trust we have not offended the Signora Colonna,” 
she said to the Lady of Gianni, Stephen’s son. “ She 
was wont to grace our halls, and we miss much her 
stately presence.” 

“ Madam, my Lord’s mother is unwell ! ” 

“ Is she so? We will send for her more welcome 
news. Methinks we are deserted to-day.” 


RIENZI 


326 

As she spoke, she carelessly dropped her handker- 
chief — the haughty dame of the Colonna bent not — 
not a hand stirred ; and the Tribunessa looked for a 
moment surprised and disconcerted. Her eye roving 
over the throng, she perceived several, whom she 
knew as the wives of Rienzi’s foes, whispering to- 
gether with meaning glances, and more than one 
malicious sneer at her mortification was apparent. 
She recovered herself instantly, and said to the Sig- 
nora Frangipani, with a smile, “ May we be a partaker 
of your mirth? You seem to have chanced on some 
gay thought, which it were a sin not to share freely.” 

The lady she addressed coloured slightly, and re- 
plied, “We were thinking, madam, that had the Trib- 
une been present, his vow of knighthood would have 
been called into requisition.” 

“ And how, Signora ? ” 

“ It would have been his pleasing duty, madam, to 
succour the distressed.” And the Signora glanced 
significantly on the kerchief still on the floor. 

“ You designed me, then, this slight, Signoras,” 
said Nina, rising with great majesty. “ I know not 
whether your Lords are equally bold to the Tribune; 
but this I know, that the Tribune’s wife can in future 
forgive your absence. Four centuries ago, a Fran- 
gipani might well have stooped to a Raselli ; to-day, 
the dame of a Roman Baron might acknowledge a 
superior in the wife of the first magistrate of Rome. I 
compel not your courtesy, nor seek it.” 

“We have gone too far,” whispered one of the 
ladies to her neighbour. “ Perhaps the enterprise 
may not succeed ; and then ” 

Further remark was cut short by the sudden en- 
trance of the Tribune. He entered with great haste, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 327 

and on his brow was that dark frown which none ever 
saw unquailing. 

“ How, fair matrons ! ” said he, looking round the 
room with a rapid glance, “ ye have not deserted us 
yet? By the blessed cross, your Lords pay a compli- 
ment to our honour, to leave us such lovely hostages, 
or else, God’s truth, they are ungrateful husbands. So, 
madam,” turning sharp round to the wife of Gianni 
Colonna, “ your husband is fled to Palestrina ; yours, 
Signora Orsini, to Marino ; yours with him, fair bride 

of Frangipani, — ye came hither to . But ye are 

sacred even from a word ! ” 

The Tribune paused a moment, evidently striv- 
ing to suppress his emotion, as he observed the terror 
he had excited — his eye fell upon Nina, who, forget- 
ting her previous vexation, regarded him with anxious 
amazement. “ Yes,” said he to her, “ you alone, per- 
haps, of this fair assemblage, know not that the nobles 
whom I lately released from the headsman’s gripe are 
a second time forsworn. They have left home in the 
dead of the night, and already the Heralds proclaim 
them traitors and rebels. Rienzi forgives no more ! ” 

“ Tribune,” exclaimed the Signora Frangipani, who 
had more bold blood in her veins than her whole 
house, “ were I of thine own sex, I would cast the 
words, Traitor and Rebel, given to my Lord, in thine 
own teeth! — Proud man, the Pontiff soon will fulfil 
that office ! ” 

“ Your Lord is blest with a dove, fair one,” said 
the Tribune, scornfully. “ Ladies, fear not, while 
Rienzi lives, the wife even of his worst foe is safe and 
honoured. The crowd will be here anon ; our guards 
shall attend ye home in safety, or this palace may be 
your shelter — for, I warn ye, that your Lords have 


328 


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rushed into a great peril. And ere many days be 
past, the streets of Rome may be as rivers of blood.” 

“ We accept your offer, Tribune,” said the Signora 
Frangipani, who was touched, and, in spite of herself, 
awed by the Tribune’s manner. And as she spoke, 
she dropped on one knee, picked up the kerchief, and, 
presenting it respectfully to Nina, said, “ Madam, for- 
give me. I alone of these present respect you more 
in danger than in pride.” 

“ And I,” returned Nina, as she leaned in graceful 
confidence on Rienzi’s arm, “ I reply, that if there be 
danger, the more need of pride.” 

All that day and all that night rang the great bell 
of the Capitol. But on the following daybreak, the 
assemblage was thin and scattered ; there was a great 
fear stricken into the hearts of the people, by the 
flight of the Barons, and they bitterly and loudly up- 
braided Rienzi for sparing them to this opportunity 
of mischief. That day the rumours continued; the 
murmurers for the most part remained within their 
houses, or assembled in listless and discontented 
troops. The next day dawned ; the same lethargy pre- 
vailed. The Tribune summoned his Council, (which 
was a Representative assembly.) 

“ Shall we go forth as we are,” said he, “ with such 
few as will follow the Roman standard ! ” 

“ No,” replied Pandulfo, who, by nature timid, was 
yet well acquainted with the disposition of the people, 
and therefore a sagacious counsellor. “ Let us hold 
back ; let us wait till the rebels commit themselves by 
some odious outrage, and then hatred will unite the 
waverers, and resentment lead them.” 

This counsel prevailed ; the event proved its wis- 
dom. To give excuse and dignity to the delay, mes- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 329 

sengers were sent to Marino, whither the chief part 
of the Barons had fled, and which was strongly for- 
tified, demanding their immediate return. 

On the day on which the haughty refusal of the in- 
surgents was brought to Rienzi, came fugitives from 
all parts of the Campagna. Houses burned — convents 
and vineyards pillaged — cattle and horses seized — at- 
tested the warfare practised by the Barons, and ani- 
mated the drooping Romans, by showing the mercies 
they might expect for themselves. That evening, of 
their own accord, the Romans rushed into the place 
of the Capitol : — Rinaldo Orsini had seized a fortress 
in the immediate neighbourhood of Rome, and had set 
fire to a tower, the flames of which were visible to the 
city. The tenant of the tower, a noble lady, old and 
widowed, was burnt alive. Then rose the wild clam- 
our — the mighty wrath — the headlong fury. The 
hour for action had arrived.* 


CHAPTER III 

THE BATTLE 

“ I have dreamed a dream/’ cried Rienzi, leaping 
from his bed. “ The lion-hearted Boniface, foe and 
victim of the Colonna, hath appeared to me, and prom- 
ised victory. f Nina, prepare the laurel-wreath: this 
day victory shall be purs ! ” 

* “ Ardea terre, arse la Castelluzza e case, e uomini. Non 
si schifo di ardere una nobile donna Vedova, veterana, in una 
torre. Per tale crudeltade li Romani furo piu irati,” &c. — • 
Vita di C. di Rienzi, lib. i. cap. 20. 

t “ In questa notte mi e apparito Santo Bonifacio Papa,” 
&c. — Vit. di Col. Rien. cap. 32. 


330 


RIENZI 


“ Oh, Rienzi ! to-day? ” 

“ Yes ! hearken to the bell — hearken to the trumpet. 
Nay, I hear even now the impatient hoofs of my white 
war-steed! One kiss, Nina, ere I arm for victory, — 
stay— comfort poor Irene ; let me not see her — she 
weeps that my foes are akin to her betrothed ; I cannot 
brook her tears ; I watched her in her cradle. To-day, 
I must have no weakness on my soul ! Knaves, twice 
perjured! — wolves, never to be tamed! — shall I meet 
ye at last sword to sword? Away, sweet Nina, to 
Irene, quick ! Adrian is at Naples, and were he in 
Rome, her lover is sacred, though fifty times a Co- 
lonna.” 

With that, the Tribune passed into his wardrobe, 
where his pages and gentlemen attended with his 
armour. “ I hear, by our spies,” said he, “ that they 
will be at our gates ere noon — four thousand foot, 
seven hundred horsemen. We will give them a hearty 
welcome, my masters. How, Angelo Villani, my 
pretty page, what do you out of your lady’s serv- 
ice?” 

“ I would fain see a warrior arm for Rome,” said the 
boy, with a boy’s energy. 

“ Bless thee, my child ; there spoke one of Rome’s 
true sons ! ” 

“ And the Signora has promised me that I shall go 
with her guard to the gates, to hear the news ” 

“And report the victory? — thou shalt. But they 
must not let thee come within shaft-shot. What ! my 
Pandulfo, thou in mail ? ” 

“ Rome requires every man,” said the citizen, whose 
weak nerves were strung by the contagion of the gen- 
eral enthusiasm. 

“ She doth — and once more I am proud to be a 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 331 


Roman. Now, gentles, the Dalmaticum:* I would 
that every foe should know Rienzi ; and, by the Lord of 
Hosts, fighting at the head of the imperial people, 
I have a right to the imperial robe. Are the friars 
prepared? Our march to the gates shall be preceded 
by a solemn hymn — so fought our sires.” 

“ Tribune, John di Vico is arrived with a hundred 
horse to support the Good Estate.” 

“ He hath ! — The Lord has delivered us then of a 
foe, and given our dungeons a traitor! — Bring hither 
yon casket, Angelo. — So — Hark thee ! Pandulfo, read 
this letter.” 

The citizen read, with surprise and consterna- 
tion, the answer of the wily Prefect to the Colonna’s 
epistle. 

“ He promises the Baron to desert to him in the 
battle, with the Prefect’s banner,” said Pandulfo. 
“ What is to be done? ” 

“ What ! — take my signet — here — see him lodged 
forthwith in the prison of the Capitol. Bid his train 
leave Rome, and if found acting with the Barons, warn 
them that their Lord dies. Go — see to it without a 
moment’s delay. Meanwhile, to the chapel — we will 
hear mass.” 

Within an hour the Roman army — vast, miscel- 
laneous — old men and boys, mingled with the vigour 
of life, were on their march to the Gate of San Lo- 
renzo ; of their number, which amounted to twenty 
thousand foot, not one-sixth could be deemed men-at- 
arms ; but the cavalry were well equipped, and con- 
sisted of the lesser Barons and the more opulent citi- 

*A robe or mantle of white, borne by Rienzi; at one time 
belonging to the sacerdotal office, afterwards an emblem of 
empire. 


332 


RIENZI 


zens. At the head of these rode the Tribune in com- 
plete armour, and wearing on his casque a wreath of 
oak and olive leaves, wrought in silver. Before him 
waved the great gonfalon of Rome, while in front of 
this multitudinous array marched a procession of 
monks, of the order of St. Francis, (for the ecclesias- 
tical body of . Rome went chiefly with the popular 
spirit, and its enthusiastic leader,) — slowly chanting 
the following hymn, which was made inexpressibly 
startling and imposing at the close of each stanza, by 
the clash of arms, the blast of trumpets, and the deep 
roll of the drum ; which formed, as it were, a martial 
chorus to the song : — 

ROMAN WAR-SONG 

i 

March, march for your hearths and your altars! 

Cursed to all time be the dastard that falters, 

Never on earth may his sins be forgiven 
Death on his soul, shut the portals of heaven ! 

A curse on his heart, and a curse on his brain! — 

Who strikes not for Rome, shall to Rome be her Cain! 
Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears, 

Spirito Santo, Cavaliers! * 

Blow, trumpets, blow, 

Blow, trumpets, blow, 

Gaily to glory we come; 

Like a king in his pomp, 

To the blast of the tromp, 

And the roar of the mighty drum! 

Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears, 

Spirito Santo, Cavaliers! 

* Rienzi's word of battle was Spirito Santo Cavaliere, i. e. 
Cavalier in the singular number. The plural number has 
been employed in the text, as somewhat more animated, and 
therefore better adapted to the kind of poetry into the service 
of which the watchword has been pressed. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 333 


2 

March, march for your Freedom and Laws! 

Earth is your witness — all Earth is your cause! 
Seraph and saint from their glory shall heed ye, 
The angel that smote the Assyrian shall lead ye; 
t To the Christ of the Cross man is never so holy 
As in braving the proud, in defence of the lowly! 
Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears, 
Spirito Santo, Cavaliers! 

Blow, trumpets, blow, 

Blow, trumpets, blow, 

Gaily to glory we come; 

Like a king in his pomp, 

To the blast of the tromp, 

And the roar of the mighty drum! 

Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears, 
Spirito Santo, Cavaliers! 


3 

March, march! ye are sons of the Roman, 

The sound of whose step was as fate to the foeman! 
Whose realm, save the air and the wave, had no wall, 

As he strode through the world like a lord in his hall; 
Though your fame hath sunk down to the night of 
the grave, 

It shall rise from the field like the sun from the wave. 
Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears, 

Spirito Santo, Cavaliers! 

Blow, trumpets, blow, 

Blow, trumpets, blow, 

Gaily to glory we come; 

Like a king in his pomp, 

To the blast of the tromp, 

And the roar of the mighty drum! 

Breeze fill our banners, sun gild our spears, 

Spirito Santo, Cavaliers! 

In this order they reached the wide waste that ruin 
and devastation left within the gates, and, marshalled 


334 


RIENZI 


in long Tines on either side, extending far down the 
vistaed streets, and leaving a broad space in the centre, 
awaited the order of their leader. 

“ Throw open the gates, and admit the foe ! ” cried 
Rienzi, with a loud voice ; as the trumpets of the 
Barons announced their approach. 

Meanwhile the insurgent Patricians, who had 
marched that morning from a place called the Monu- 
ment, four miles distant, came gallantly and boldly on. 

With old Stephen, whose great height, gaunt frame, 
and lordly air, shewed well in his gorgeous mail, rode 
his sons, — the Frangipani and the Savelli, and Gior- 
dano Orsini, brother to Rinaldo. 

“ To-day the tyrant shall perish ! ” said the proud 
Baron ; “ and the flag of the Colonna shall wave from 
the Capitol.” 

“ The flag of the Bear,” said Giordano Orsini, 
angrily. — “ The victory will not be yours alone, my 
Lord ! ” 

“ Our house ever took precedence in Rome,” re- 
plied the Colonna, haughtily. 

“ Never, while one stone of the palaces of the Orsini 
stands upon another.” 

“ Hush ! ” said Luca di Savelli ; “ are ye dividing 
the skin while the lion lives? We shall have fierce 
work to-day.” 

“ Not so,” said the old Colonna; “ John di Vico will 
turn, with his Romans, at the first onset, and some of 
the malcontents within have promised to open the 
gates. — How, knave ? ” as a scout rode up breathless 
to the Baron. “ What tidings? ” 

“ The gates are opened — not a spear gleams from 
the walls ! ” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 335 

“ Did I not tell ye, Lords ? ” said the Colonna, turn- 
ing round triumphantly. “ Methinks we shall win 
Rome without a single blow. — Grandson, where now 
are thy silly forebodings ? ” This was said to Pietro, 
one of his grandsons — the first-born of Gianni — a 
comely youth, not two weeks wedded, who made no 
reply. “ My little Pietro here,” continued the Baron, 
speaking to his comrades, “ is so new a bridegroom, 
that last night he dreamed of his bride ; and deems it, 
poor lad, a portent.” 

“ She was in deep mourning, and glided from my 
arms, uttering ‘Woe, woe, to the Colonna!’” said 
the young man, solemnly. 

“ I have lived nearly ninety years,” replied the old 
man, “ and I may have dreamed, therefore, some forty 
thousand dreams ; of which, two came true, and the 
rest were false. Judge, then, what chances are in 
favour of the science ! ” 

Thus conversing, they approached within bow-shot 
of the gates, which were still open. All was silent as 
death. The army, which was composed chiefly of for- 
eign mercenaries, halted in deliberation — when, lo ! — a 
torch was suddenly cast on high over the walls ; it 
gleamed a moment — and then hissed in the miry pool 
below. 

“ It is the signal of our friends within, as agreed 
on,” cried old Colonna. “ Pietro, advance with your 
company ! ” The young nobleman closed his visor, 
put himself at the head of the band under his com- 
mand ; and, with his lance in his rest, rode in a half 
gallop to the gates. The morning had been clouded 
and overcast, and the sun, appearing only at intervals, 
now broke out in a bright stream of light — as it glit- 
tered on the waving plume and shining mail of the 


336 


RIENZI 


young horseman, disappearing under the gloomy arch, 
several paces in advance of his troop. On swept his 
followers — forward went the cavalry headed by Gianni 
Colonna, Pietro’s father. — There was a minute’s 
silence, broken only by the clatter of the arms, and 
tramp of hoofs, — when from within the walls rose the 
abrupt cry — “Rome, the Tribune, and the People! 
Spirito Santo , Cavaliers! ” The main body halted 
aghast. Suddenly Gianni Colonna was seen flying 
backward from the gate at full speed. 

“ My son, my son ! ” he cried, “ they have murdered 
him;” — he halted abrupt and irresolute, then adding, 
“ But I will avenge ! ” wheeled round, and spurred 
again through the arch, — when a huge machine of 
iron, shaped as a portcullis, suddenly descended upon 
the unhappy father, and crushed man and horse to 
the ground — one blent, mangled, bloody mass. 

The old Colonna saw, and scarce believed his eyes ; 
and ere his troop recovered its stupor, the machine 
rose, and over the corpse dashed the Popular Arma- 
ment. Thousands upon thousands, they came on ; a 
wild, clamorous, roaring stream. They poured on all 
sides upon their enemies, who drawn up in steady dis- 
cipline, and clad in complete mail, received and broke 
their charge. 

“ Revenge, and the Colonna ! ” — “ The Bear and the 
Orsini ! ’’ — “ Charity and the Frangipani ! ”* “ Strike 

for the Snakef and the Savelli ! ” were then heard on 
high, mingled with the German and hoarse shout, 
“ Full purses, and the Three Kings of Cologne.” The 

* Who had taken their motto from some fabled ancestor 
who had broken bread with a beggar in a time of famine. 

f The Lion was, however, the animal usually arrogated by 
the heraldic vanity of the Savelli. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 337 

Romans, rather ferocious than disciplined, fell butch- 
ered in crowds round the ranks of the mercenaries : 
but as one fell, another succeeded ; and still burst with 
undiminished fervour the counter cry of “ Rome, the 
Tribune, and the People ! — Spirito Santo , Cavaliers ! ” 
Exposed to every shaft and every sword by his em- 
blematic diadem and his imperial robe, the fierce 
Rienzi led on each assault, wielding an enormous bat- 
tle-axe, for the use of which the Italians were cele- 
brated, and which he regarded as a national weapon. 
Inspired by every darker and sterner instinct of his 
nature, his blood heated, his passions aroused, fighting 
as a citizen for liberty, as a monarch for his crown, his 
daring seemed to the astonished foe as that of one 
frantic ; his preservation that of one inspired : now 
here, now there ; wherever flagged his own, or failed 
the opposing, force, glittered his white robe, and rose 
his bloody battle-axe ; but his fury seemed rather 
directed against the chiefs than the herd ; and still 
where his charger wheeled was heard his voice, 
“ Where is a Colonna? ” — “ Defiance to the Orsini ! ” 
— “ Spirito Santo , Cavaliers ! ” Three times was the 
sally led from the gate ; three times were the Romans 
beaten back ; and on the third, the gonfalon, borne be- 
fore the Tribune, was cloven to the ground. Then, 
for the first time, he seemed amazed and alarmed, and, 
raising his eyes to heaven, he exclaimed, “ O Lord, 
hast thou then forsaken me?” With that, taking 
heart, once more he waved his arm, and again led for- 
ward his wild array. 

At eve the battle ceased. Of the Barons who had 
been the main object of the Tribune’s assault, the pride 
and boast was broken. Of the princely line of the 
Colonna, three lay dead. Giordano Orsini was mor- 


22 


RIENZI 


338 

tally wounded ; the fierce Rinaldo had not shared the 
conflict. Of the Frangipani, the haughtiest signors 
were no more ; and Luca, the dastard head of the 
Savelli, had long since saved himself by flight. On 
the other hand, the slaughter of the citizens had been 
prodigious ; — the ground was swamped with blood — 
and over heaps of slain (steeds and riders) the twilight 
star beheld Rienzi and the Romans returning victors 
from the pursuit. Shouts of rejoicing followed the 
Tribune’s panting steed through the arch ; and just 
as he entered the space within, crowds of those whose 
infirmities, sex, or years, had not allowed them to 
share the conflict, — women, and children, and drivel- 
ling age, mingled with the bare feet and dark robes of 
monks and friars, apprised of the victory, were pre- 
pared to hail his triumph. 

Rienzi reined his steed by the corpse of the boy 
Colonna, which lay half immersed in a pool of water, 
and close by it, removed from the arch where he had 
fallen, lay that of Gianni Colonna, — (that Gianni 
Colonna whose spear had dismissed his brother’s gen- 
tle spirit.) He glanced over the slain, as the melan- 
choly Hesperus played upon the bloody pool and the 
gory corselet, with a breast heaved with many emo- 
tions; and turning, he saw the young Angelo, who, 
with some of Nina’s guard, had repaired to the spot, 
and had now approached the Tribune. 

“ Child,” said Rienzi, pointing to the dead, “ blessed 
art thou who hast no blood of kindred to avenge ! — to him 
who hath, sooner or later comes the hour; and an 
awful hour it is ! ” 

The words sank deep into Angelo’s heart, and in 
after life became words of fate to the speaker and the 
listener. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 339 

Ere Rienzi had well recovered himself, and as were 
heard around him the shrieks of the widows and 
mothers of the slain — the groans of the dying — the 
exhortations of the friars — mingled with sounds of joy 
and triumph — a cry was raised by the women and 
stragglers on the battle-field without, of “ The foe ! — 
the foe ! ” 

“ To your swords/’ cried the Tribune ; “ fall back 
in order : — yet they cannot be so bold ! ” 

The tramp of horses, the blast of a trumpet, were 
heard ; and presently, at full speed, some thirty horse- 
men dashed through the gate. 

“Your bows,” exclaimed the Tribune, advancing; 
— “ yet hold — the leader is unarmed — it is our own 
banner. By our Lady, it is our ambassador of Naples, 
the Lord Adrian di Castello ! ” 

Panting — breathless — covered with dust — Adrian 
halted at the pool red with the blood of his kindred — 
and their pale faces, set in death, glared upon him. 

“ Too late — alas ! alas ! — dread fate ! — unhappy 
Rome ! ” 

“ They fell into the pit they themselves had digged,” 
said the Tribune, in a firm but hollow voice. — “ Noble 
Adrian, would thy counsels had prevented this ! ” 

“ Away, proud man — away ! ” said Adrian, impa- 
tiently waving his hand, — “ thou shouldst protect the 

lives of Romans, and oh, Gianni ! — Pietro ! — could 

not birth, renown, and thy green years, poor boy — 
could not these save ye ? ” 

“ Pardon him, my friends,” said the Tribune to the 
crowd, — “ his grief is natural, and he knows not all 
their guilt. — Back, I pray ye — leave him to our minis- 
tering.” 

It might have fared ill for Adrian, but for the Trib- 


340 


RIENZI 


une’s brief speech. And as the young Lord, dis- 
mounting, now bent over his kinsmen — the Tribune 
also surrendering his charger to his ’squires, ap- 
proached, and, despite Adrian’s reluctance and aver- 
sion, drew him aside, — 

“ Young friend,” said he, mournfully, “ my heart 
bleeds for you ; yet bethink thee, the wrath of the 
crowd is fresh upon them : be prudent.” 

“ Prudent!” 

“ Hush — by my honour, these men were not wor- 
thy of your name. Twice perjured — once assassins — 
twice rebels — listen to me ! ” 

“ Tribune, I ask no other construing of what I see 
—they might have died justly, or been butchered 
foully. But there is no peace between the executioner 
of my race and me.” 

“ Will you , too, be forsworn ? Thine oath ! — Come, 
come, I hear not these words. Be composed — retire 
— and if, three days hence, you impute any other 
blame to me than that of unwise lenity, I absolve you 
from your oath, and you are free to be my foe. The 
crowd gape and gaze upon us — a minute more, and 
I may not avail to save you.” 

The feelings of the young patrician were such as 
utterly baffle description. He had never been much 
amongst his house, nor ever received more than com- 
mon courtesy at their hands. But lineage is lineage 
still! And there, in the fatal hazard of war, lay the 
tree and sapling, the prime and hope of his race. He 
felt there was no answer to the Tribune, the very place 
of their death proved they had fallen in an assault upon 
their countrymen. He sympathised not with their 
cause, but their fate. And rage, revenge alike forbid- 
den — his heart was the more softened to the shock and 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 341 


paralysis of grief. He did not therefore speak, but 
continued to gaze upon the dead, while large and un- 
heeded tears flowed down his cheeks, and his attitude 
of dejection and sorrow was so moving, that the 
crowd, at first indignant, now felt for his affliction. 
At length his mind seemed made up. He turned to 
Rienzi, and said, falteringly, “ Tribune, I blame you 
not, nor accuse. If you have been rash in this, God 
will have blood for blood. I wage no war with you — 
you say right, my oath prevents me ; and if you govern 
well, I can still remember that I am Roman. But — 
but — look to that bleeding clay — we meet no more ! — 
your sister — God be with her! — between her and me 
flows a dark gulf ! ” The young noble paused some 
moments, choked by his emotions, and then continued, 
“ These papers discharge me of my mission. Stand- 
ard-bearers, lay down the banner of the Republic. 
Tribune, speak not — I would be calm — calm. And 
so farewell to Rome.” With a hurried glance towards 
the dead, he sprung upon his steed, and, followed by 
his train, vanished through the arch. 

The Tribune had not attempted to detain him — had 
not interrupted him. He felt that the young noble 
had thought — acted as became him best. He followed 
him with his eyes. 

“ And thus,” said he gloomily, “ Fate plucks from 
me my noblest friend and my justest counsellor — a 
better man Rome never lost ! ” 

Such is the eternal doom of disordered states. The 
mediator between rank and rank, — the kindly noble — 
the dispassionate patriot — the first to act — the most 
hailed in action — darkly vanishes from the scene. 
Fiercer and more unscrupulous spirits alone stalk the 
field ; and no neutral and harmonising link remains be- 


342 


RIENZI 


tween hate and hate, — until exhaustion, sick with hor- 
rors, succeeds to frenzy, and despotism is welcomed 
as repose ! 


CHAPTER IV 

THE HOLLOWNESS OF THE BASE 

The rapid and busy march of state events has led us 
long away from the sister of the Tribune and the be- 
trothed of Adrian. And the sweet thoughts and gen- 
tle day-dreams of that fair and enamoured girl, how- 
ever full to her of an interest beyond all the storms 
and perils of ambition, are not so readily adapted to 
narration : — their soft monotony a few words can paint. 
They knew but one image, they tended to but one 
prospect. Shrinking from the glare of her brother’s 
court, and eclipsed, when she forced herself to appear, 
by the more matured and dazzling beauty and all- 
commanding presence, of Nina, — to her the pomp and 
crowd seemed an unreal pageant, from which she re- 
tired to the truth of life , — the hopes and musings of 
her own heart. Poor girl ! with all the soft and tender 
nature of her dead brother, and none of the stern 
genius and the prodigal ambition, — the eye-fatiguing 
ostentation and fervour of the living — she was but ill- 
fitted for the unquiet but splendid region to which she 
was thus suddenly transferred. 

With all her affection for Rienzi, she could not con- 
quer a certain fear which, conjoined with the differ- 
ence of sex and age, forbade her to be communica- 
tive with him upon the subject most upon her heart. 

As the absence of Adrian at the Neapolitan Court 
passed the anticipated date (for at no Court then, with 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 343 

a throne fiercely disputed, did the Tribune require a 
nobler or more intelligent representative, — and in- 
trigues and counter-intrigues delayed his departure 
from week to week), she grew uneasy and alarmed. 
Like many, themselves unseen, inactive, the specta- 
tors of the scene, she saw involuntarily further into the 
time than the deeper intellect either of the Tribune or 
Nina ; and the dangerous discontent of the nobles was 
visible and audible to her in looks and whispers, which 
reached not acuter or more suspected ears and eyes. 
Anxiously, restlessly, did she long for the return of 
Adrian, not from selfish motives alone, but from well- 
founded apprehensions for her brother. With Adrian 
di Castello, alike a noble and a patriot, each party 
had found a mediator, and his presence grew daily 
more needed, till at length the conspiracy of the 
Barons had broken out. From that hour she scarcely 
dared to hope ; her calm sense, unblinded by the high- 
wrought genius which, as too often happens, made the 
Tribune see harsh realities through a false and brilliant 
light, perceived that the Rubicon was passed; and 
through all the events that followed she could behold 
but two images — danger to her brother, separation 
from her betrothed. 

With Nina alone could her full heart confer; for 
Nina, with all the differences of character, was a 
woman who loved. And this united them. In the 
earlier power of Rienzi, many of their happiest hours 
had been passed together, remote from the gaudy 
crowd, alone and unrestrained, in the summer nights, 
on the moonlit balconies, in that interchange of 
thought, sympathy, and consolation, which to two im- 
passioned and guileless women makes the most inter- 
esting occupation and the most effectual solace. But 


344 


RIENZI 


of late, this intercourse had been much marred. From 
the morning in which the Barons had received their 
pardon, to that on which they had marched on Rome, 
had been one succession of fierce excitements. Every 
face Irene saw was clouded and overcast — all gaiety 
was suspended — bustling and anxious councillors, or 
armed soldiers, had for days been the only visitors of 
the palace. Rienzi had been seen but for short 
moments: his brow wrapt in care. Nina had been 
more fond, more caressing than ever, but in those 
caresses there seemed a mournful and ominous com- 
passion. The attempts at comfort and hope were suc- 
ceeded by a sickly smile and broken words ; and Irene 
was prepared, by the presentiments of her own heart, 
for the stroke that fell — victory was to her brother — 
his foe was crushed — Rome was free — but the lofty 
house of the Colonnas had lost its stateliest props, and 
Adrian was gone for ever! — She did not blame him; 
she could not blame her brother; each had acted as 
became his several station. She was the poor sacrifice 
of events and fate — the Iphigenia to the Winds which 
were to bear the bark of Rome to the haven, or, it 
might be, to whelm it in the abyss. She was stunned 
by the blow ; she did not even weep or complain ; she 
bowed to the storm that swept over her, and it passed. 
For two days she neither took food nor rest ; she shut 
herself up ; she asked only the boon of solitude : but 
on the third morning she recovered as by a miracle, 
for on the third morning the following letter was left 
at the palace : — 

“ Irene, — Ere this you have learned my deep cause 
of grief; you feel that to a Colonna, Rome can no 
longer be a home, nor Rome’s Tribune be a brother. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 345 

While I write these words honour but feebly supports 
me : all the hopes I had formed, all the prospects I had 
pictured, all the love I bore and bear thee, rush upon 
my heart, and I can only feel that I am wretched. 
Irene, Irene, your sweet face rises before me, and in 
those beloved eyes I read that I am forgiven, — I am 
understood ; and dearly as I know thou lovest me, 
thou wouldst rather I were lost to thee, rather I were 
in the grave with my kinsmen, than know I lived the 
reproach of my order, the recreant of my name. Ah ! 
why was I a Colonna? why did Fortune make me 
noble, and nature and circumstance attach me to the 
people? I am barred alike from love and from re- 
venge ; all my revenge falls upon thee and me. 
Adored ! we are perhaps separated for ever ; but, by all 
the happiness I have known by thy side — by all the 
rapture of which I dreamed — by that delicious hour 
which first gave thee to my gaze, when I watched the 
soft soul returning to thine eyes and lip — by thy first 
blushing confession of love — by our first kiss — by our 
last farewell — I swear to be faithful to thee to the last. 
None other shall ever chase thine image from my 
heart. And now, when Hope seems over, Faith be- 
comes doubly sacred; and thou, my beautiful, wilt 
thou not remember me? wilt thou not feel as if we 
were the betrothed of Heaven ? In the legends of the 
North we are told of the knight who, returning from 
the Holy Land, found his mistress (believing his 
death) the bride of Heaven, and he built a hermitage 
by the convent where she dwelt; and, though they 
never saw each other more, their souls were faithful 
unto death. Even so, Irene, be we to each other — 
dead to all else — betrothed in memory — to be wedded 
above! And yet, yet ere I close, one hope dawns 


346 


RIENZI 


upon me. Thy brother’s career, bright and lofty, may 
be but as a falling star; should darkness swallow it, 
should his power cease, should his throne be broken, 
and Rome know no more her Tribune; shouldst thou 
no longer have a brother in the judge and destroyer 
of my house; shouldst thou be stricken from pomp 
and state ; shouldst thou be friendless, kindredless, 
alone — then, without a stain on mine honour, without 
the shame and odium of receiving power and happi- 
ness from hands yet red with the blood of my race, I 
may claim thee as my own. Honour ceases to com- 
mand when thou ceasest to be great. I dare not too 
fondly indulge this dream, perchance it is a sin in both. 
But it must be whispered, that thou mayest know all 
thy Adrian, all his weakness and his strength. My 
own loved, my ever loved, loved more fondly now 
when loved despairingly, farewell ! May angels heal 
thy sorrow, and guard me from sin, that hereafter at 
least we may meet again ! ” 

“ He loves me — he loves me still ! ” said the maiden, 
weeping at last ; “ and I am blest once more ! ” 

With that letter pressed to her heart she recovered 
outwardly from the depth of her affliction ; she met 
her brother with a smile, and Nina with embraces ; and 
if still she pined and sorrowed, it was in that “ con- 
cealment ” which is the “ worm i’ the bud.” 

Meanwhile, after the first flush of victory, lamenta- 
tion succeeded to joy in Rome ; so great had been the 
slaughter that the private grief was large enough to 
swallow up all public triumph ; and many of the 
mourners blamed even their defender for the swords 
of the assailant, “Roma fa terribilmente vedovata.”* 
* “ Rome was terribly widowed” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 34/ 

The numerous funerals deeply affected the Tribune ; 
and, in proportion to his sympathy with his people, 
grew his stern indignation against the Barons. Like 
all men whose religion is intense, passionate, and zeal- 
ous, the Tribune had little toleration for those crimes 
which went to the root of religion. Perjury was to 
him the most base and inexpiable of offences, and the 
slain Barons had been twice perjured : in the bitterness 
of his wrath he forbade their families for some days 
to lament over their remains; and it was only in pri- 
vate and in secret that he permitted them to be in- 
terred in their ancestral vaults : an excess of vengeance 
which sullied his laurels, but which was scarcely in- 
consistent with the stern patriotism of his character. 
Impatient to finish what he had begun, anxious to 
march at once to Marino, where the insurgents col- 
lected their shattered force, he summoned his Council, 
and represented the certainty of victory, and its result 
in the complete restoration of peace. But pay was 
due to the soldiery ; they already murmured ; the 
treasury was emptied, it was necessary to fill it by 
raising a new tax. 

Among the councillors were some whose families 
had suffered grievously in the battle — they lent a luke- 
warm attention to propositions of continued strife. 
Others, among whom was Pandulfo, timid but well- 
meaning, aware that grief and terror even of their own 
triumph had produced reaction amongst the people, 
declared that they would not venture to propose a new 
tax. A third party, headed by Baroncelli — a dema- 
gogue whose ambition was without principle — but 
who, by pandering to the worst passions of the popu- 
lace, by a sturdy coarseness of nature with which they 
sympathised — and by that affectation of advancing 


348 


RIENZI 


what we now term the “ movement/’ which often gives 
to the fiercest fool an advantage over the most prudent 
statesman, had quietly acquired a great influence with 
the lower ranks — offered a more bold opposition. 
They dared even to blame the proud Tribune for the 
gorgeous extravagance they had themselves been the 
first to recommend — and half insinuated sinister and 
treacherous motives in his acquittal of the Barons from 
the accusation of Rodolf. In the very Parliament 
which the Tribune had revived and remodelled for the 
support of freedom — freedom was abandoned. His 
fiery eloquence met with a gloomy silence, and finally, 
the votes were against his propositions for the new 
tax and the march to Marino. Rienzi broke up the 
Council in haste and disorder. As he left the hall, a 
letter was put into his hands ; he read it, and remained 
for some moments as one thunderstruck. He then 
summoned the Captain of his Guards, and ordered a 
band of fifty horsemen to be prepared for his com- 
mands ; he repaired to Nina’s apartment, he found her 
alone, and stood for some moments gazing upon her 
so intently that she was awed and chilled from all at- 
tempt at speech. At length he said, abruptly — 

“We must part.” 

“ Part ! ” 

“Yes, Nina — your guard is preparing; you have 
relations, I have friends, at Florence. Florence must 
be your home.” 

“ Cola, ” 

“ Look not on me thus. — In power, in state, in 
safety — you were my ornament and counsellor. Now 
you but embarrass me. And ” 

“ Oh, Cola, speak not thus ! What hath chanced ? 
Be not so cold — frown not — turn not away! Am I 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 349 

not something more to thee, than the partner of joyous 
hours — the minion of love ? Am I not thy wife, Cola 
— not thy leman ? ” 

“ Too dear — too dear to me,” muttered the Trib- 
une ; “ with thee by my side I shall be but half a Ro- 
man. Nina, the base slaves whom I myself made 
free desert me. — Now, in the very hour in which I 
might sweep away for ever all obstacles to the regen- 
eration of Rome — now when one conquest points the 
path to complete success — now when the land is vis- 
ible, my fortune suddenly leaves me in the midst of the 
seas ! There is greater danger now than in the rage 
of the Barons — the Barons are fled ; it is the People 
who are becoming traitors to Rome and to me.” 

“ And wouldst thou have me traitor also ! No, Cola ; 
in death itself Nina shall be beside thee. Life and 
honour are reflected but from thee, and the stroke that 
slays the substance, shall destroy the humble shadow. 
I will not part from thee.” 

“ Nina,” said the Tribune, contending with strong 
and convulsive emotion, — “ it may be literally of death 
that you speak. — Go ! leave one who can no longer 
protect you or Rome ! ” 

“ Never — never.” 

“ You are resolved? ” 

“ I am.” 

“ Be it so,” said the Tribune, with deep sadness in 
his tone. “ Arm thyself for the worst.” 

“ There is no zvorst with thee, Cola ! ” 

“ Come to my arms, brave woman ; thy words re- 
buke my weakness. But my sister! — if I fall, you , 
Nina, will not survive — your beauty a prey to the most 
lustful heart and the strongest hand. We will have 
the same tomb on the wrecks of Roman liberty. But 


35o 


RIENZI 


Irene is of weaker mould; poor child, I have robbed 
her of a lover, and now ” 

“ You are right ; let Irene go. And in truth we may 
well disguise from her the real cause of her departure. 
Change of scene were best for her grief ; and under all 
circumstances would seem decorum to the curious. I 
will see and prepare her.” 

“ Do so, sweetheart. I would gladly be a moment 
alone with thought. But remember, she must part 
to-day — our sands run low.” 

As the door closed on Nina, the Tribune took out 
the letter and again read it deliberately. “ So the 
Pope’s Legate left Sienna : — prayed that Republic to 
withdraw its auxiliary troops from Rome — proclaimed 
me a rebel and a heretic ; — thence repaired to Marino ; 
— now in council with the Barons. Why, have my 
dreams belied me, then — false as the waking things 
that flatter and betray by day? In such peril will the 
people forsake me and themselves? Army of saints 
and martyrs, shades of heroes and patriots, have ye 
abandoned for ever your ancient home? No, no, I 
was not raised to perish thus ; I will defeat them yet — 
and leave my name a legacy to Rome ; a warning to 
the oppressor — an example to the free ! ” 


CHAPTER V 

THE ROTTENNESS OF THE EDIFICE 

The kindly skill of Nina induced Irene to believe 
that it was but the tender consideration of her brother 
to change a scene embittered by her own thoughts, 
and in which the notoriety of her engagement with 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 351 

Adrian exposed her to all that could mortify and em- 
barrass, that led to the proposition of her visit to Flor- 
ence. Its suddenness was ascribed to the occasion of 
an unexpected mission to Florence (for a loan of arms 
and money), which thus gave her a safe and honoured 
escort. — Passively she submitted to what she herself 
deemed a relief ; and it was agreed that she should for 
a while be the guest of a relation of Nina’s, who was 
the abbess of one of the wealthiest of the Florentine 
convents : the idea of monastic seclusion was welcome 
to the bruised heart and wearied spirit. 

But though not apprised of the immediate peril of 
Rienzi, it was with deep sadness and gloomy fore- 
bodings that she returned his embrace and parting 
blessing; and when at length alone in her litter, and 
beyond the gates of Rome, she repented a departure 
to which the chance of danger gave the appearance 
of desertion. 

Meanwhile, as the declining day closed around the 
litter and its troop, more turbulent actors in the drama 
demand our audience. The traders and artisans of 
Rome at that time, and especially during the popular 
government of Rienzi, held weekly meetings in each 
of the thirteen quarters of the city. And in the most 
democratic of these, Cecco del Vecchio was an oracle 
and leader. It was at that assembly, over which the 
smith presided, that the murmurs that preceded the 
earthquake were heard. 

“ So,” cried one of the company — Luigi, the goodly 
butcher, — “ they say he wanted to put a new tax on 
us ; and that is the reason he broke up the Council to- 
day, because, good men, they were honest, and had 
bowels for the people : it is a shame and a sin that the 
treasury should be empty.” 


352 


RIENZI 


“ I told him,” said the smith, “ to beware how he 
taxed the people. Poor men won’t be taxed. But as 
he does not follow my advice, he must take the conse- 
quence — the horse runs from one hand, the halter re- 
mains in the other.” 

“ Take your advice, Cecco ! I warrant me his stom- 
ach is too high for that now. Why he is grown as 
proud as a pope.” 

“ For all that, he is a great man,” said one of the 
party. “ He gave us laws — he rid the Campagna of 
robbers — filled the streets with merchants, and the 
shops with wares — defeated the boldest lords and 
fiercest soldiery of Italy ” 

“ And now wants to tax the people ! — that’s all the 
thanks we get for helping him,” said the grumbling 
Cecco. “ What would he have been without us ? — we 
that make, can unmake.” 

“ But,” continued the advocate, seeing that he had 
his supporters — “ but then he taxes us for our own 
liberties.” 

“ Who strikes at them now ? ” asked the butcher. 

“ Why the Barons are daily mustering new strength 
at Marino.” 

“ Marino is not Rome,” said Luigi, the butcher. 
“ Let’s wait till they come to our gates again — we 
know how to receive them. Though, for the matter 
of that, I think we have had enough fighting — my two 
poor brothers had each a stab too much for them. 
Why won’t the Tribune, if he be a great man, let us 
have peace? All we want now is quiet? ” 

“ Ah ! ” said a seller of horse-harness. “ Let him 
make it up with the Barons. They were good cus- 
tomers after all.” 

“ For my part,” said a merry-looking fellow, who 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 353 

had been a grave-digger in bad times, and had now 
opened a stall of wares for the living, “ I could for- 
give him all, but bathing in the holy vase of por- 
phyry.” 

“ Ah, that was a bad job,” said several, shaking 
their heads. 

“ And the knighthood was but a silly show, an it 
were not for the wine from the horse’s nostrils — that 
had some sense in it.” 

“ My masters,” said Cecco, “ the folly was in not 
beheading the Barons when he had them all in the net ; 
and so Messere Baroncelli says. (Ah, Baroncelli is 
an honest man, and follows no half measures !) It 
was a sort of treason to the people not to do so. Why, 
but for that, we should never have lost so many tall 
fellows by the gate of San Lorenzo.” 

“ True, true, it was a shame ; some say the Barons 
bought him.” 

“ And then,” said another, “ those poor Lords Co- 
lonna — boy and man — they were the best of the family, 
save the Castello. I vow I pitied them.” 

“ But to the point,” said one of the crowd, the richest 
of the set ; “ the tax is the thing. The ingratitude to 
tax us . — Let him dare to do it ! ” 

“ Oh, he will not dare, for I hear that the Pope’s 
bristles are up at last; so he will only have us to de- 
pend upon ! ” 

The door was thrown open — a man rushed in open- 
mouthed — 

“ Masters, masters, the Pope’s legate has arrived at 
Rome, and sent for the Tribune, who has just left his 
presence.” 

Ere his auditors had recovered their surprise, the 
sound of trumpets made them rush forth ; they saw 
23 


354 


RIENZI 


Rienzi sweep by with his usual cavalcade, and in his 
proud array. The twilight was advancing, and torch- 
bearers preceded his way. Upon his countenance was 
deep calm, but it was not the calm of contentment. 
He passed on, and the street was again desolate. 
Meanwhile Rienzi reached the Capitol in silence, and 
mounted to the apartments of the palace, where Nina, 
pale and breathless, awaited his return. 

“Well, well, thou smilest! No — it is that dread 
smile, worse than frowns. Speak, beloved, speak ! 
What said the Cardinal ? ” 

“ Little thou wilt love to hear. He spoke at first 
high and solemnly, about the crime of declaring the 
Romans free ; next about the treason of asserting that 
the election of the King of Rome was in the hands of 
the Romans.” 

“ Well — thy answer.” 

“ That which became Rome’s Tribune : I re-asserted 
each right and proved it. The Cardinal passed to 
other charges.” 

“ What?” 

“ The blood of the barons by San Lorenzo — blood 
only shed in our own defence against perjured assail- 
ants ; this is in reality the main- crime. The Colonna 
have the Pope’s ear. Furthermore, the sacrilege — 
yes, the sacrilege (come laugh, Nina, laugh !) of bath- 
ing in a vase of porphyry used by Constantine while 
yet a heathen.” 

“ Can it be ! What saidst thou ? ” 

“ I laughed. ‘ Cardinal,’ quoth I, ‘ what was not 
too good for a heathen is not too good for a Christian 
Catholic ! ’ And verily the sour Frenchman looked as 
if I had smote him on the hip. When he had done, 
I asked him, in my turn, ‘ Is it alleged against me that 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 355 


I have wronged one man in my judgment-court?’ — 
Silence. ‘ Is it said that I have broken one law of the 
state?’ — Silence. Us it even whispered that trade does 
not flourish — that life is not safe — that abroad or at 
home the Roman name is not honoured, to that point 
which no former rule can parallel ? ’ — Silence. ‘ Then/ 
said I, ‘ Lord Cardinal, I demand thy thanks, not thy 
censure.’ The Frenchman looked, and looked, and 
trembled, and shrunk, and then out he spoke. ‘ I have 
but one mission to fulfil, on the part of the Pontiff — 
resign at once thy Tribuneship, or the Church inflicts 
upon thee its solemn curse.’ ” 

“ How — how?” said Nina, turning very pale; 
“ what is it that awaits thee ? ” 

“ Excommunication ! ” 

This awful sentence, by which the spiritual arm had 
so often stricken down the fiercest foe, came to Nina’s 
ears as a knell. She covered her face with her hands. 
Rienzi paced the room with rapid strides. “ The 
curse ! ” he muttered ; “ the Church’s curse — for me — 
for me ! ” 

“ Oh, Cola ! didst thou not seek to pacify this 
stern ” 

“ Pacify ! Death and dishonour ! Pacify ! ‘ Cardi- 
nal,’ I said, and I felt his soul shrivel at my gaze, ‘ my 
power I received from the people — to the people alone 
I render it. For my soul, man’s words cannot scathe 
it. Thou, haughty priest, thou thyself art the ac- 
cursed, if, puppet and tool of low cabals and exiled 
tyrants, thou breathest but a breath in the name of 
the Lord of Justice, for the cause of the oppressor, and 
against the rights of the oppressed.’ With that I left 
him, and now ” 

“ Ay, now — now what will happen ? Excommuni- 


356 


RIENZI 


cation ! In the metropolis of the Church, too — the 
superstition of the people ! Oh, Cola ! ” 

“ If,” muttered Rienzi, “ my conscience condemned 
me of one crime — if I had stained my hands in one 
just man’s blood — if I had broken one law I myself 
had framed — if I had taken bribes, or wronged the 
poor, or scorned the orphan, or shut my heart to the 
widow — then, then — but no ! Lord, thou wilt not de- 
sert me ! ” 

“ But man may ! ” thought Nina mournfully, as she 
perceived that one of Rienzi’s dark fits of fanatical and 
mystical reverie was growing over him — fits which he 
suffered no living eye, not even Nina’s, to witness 
when they gathered to their height. And now, in- 
deed, after a short interval of muttered soliloquy, in 
which his face worked so that the veins on his temples 
swelled like cords, he abruptly left the room, and 
sought the private oratory connected with his closet. 
Over the emotions there indulged let us draw the veil. 
Who shall describe those awful and mysterious mo- 
ments, when man, with all his fiery passions, turbulent 
thoughts, wild hopes, and despondent fears, demands 
the solitary audience of his Maker ? 

It was long after this conference with Nina, and the 
midnight bell had long tolled, when Rienzi stood 
alone, upon one of the balconies of the palace, to cool, 
in the starry air, the fever that yet lingered on his 
exhausted frame. The night was exceedingly calm, 
the air clear, but chill, for it was now December. 
He gazed intently upon those solemn orbs to which 
our wild credulity has referred the prophecies of our 
doom. 

“Vain science ! ” thought the Tribune, “ and gloomy 
fantasy, that man’s fate is pre-ordained — irrevocable — 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 357 


unchangeable, from the moment of his birth! Yet, 
were the dream not baseless, fain would I know which 
of yon stately lights is my natal star, — which images — 
which reflects — my career in life, and the memory I 
shall leave in death.” As this thought crossed him, and 
his gaze was still fixed above, he saw, as if made sud- 
denly more distinct than the stars around it, that rapid 
and fiery comet which in the winter of 1347 dismayed 
the superstitions of those who recognised in the 
stranger of the heavens the omen of disaster and of 
woe. He recoiled as it met his eye, and muttered to 
himself, “ Is such indeed my type ! or, if the legendary 
lore speak true, and these strange fires portend nations 
ruined, and rulers overthrown, does it foretell my fate ? 
I will think no more.”* As his eyes fell they rested 
upon the colossal Lion of Basalt in the place below, 
the starlight investing its gray and towering form with 
a more ghostly whiteness ; and then it was, that he 
perceived two figures in black robes lingering by the 
pedestal which supported the statue, and apparently 
engaged in some occupation which he could not guess. 
A fear shot through his veins, for he had never been 
able to divest himself of the vague idea that there was 
some solemn and appointed connection between his 
fate and that old Lion of Basalt. Somewhat relieved, 
he heard his sentry challenge the intruders ; and as 
they came forward to the light, he perceived that they 
wore the garments of monks. 

“ Molest us not, son,” said one of them to the sentry. 
“ By order of the Legate of the Holy Father we affix 


* Alas! if by the Romans associated with the fall of Rienzi, 
that comet was by the rest of Europe connected with the 
more dire calamity of the Great Plague that so soon after- 
wards ensued. 


358 


RIENZI 


to this public monument of justice and of wrath, the 
bull of excommunication against a heretic and rebel. 
Woe to the Accursed of the Church ! ” 


CHAPTER VI 

THE FALL OF THE TEMPLE 

It was as a thunderbolt in a serene day — the reverse 
of the Tribune in the zenith of his power, in the abase- 
ment of his foe ; when, with but a handful of brave 
Romans, determined to be free, he might have crushed 
for ever the antagonist power to the Roman liberties — 
have secured the rights of his country, and filled up 
the measure of his own renown. Such a reverse was 
the very mockery of Fate, who bore him through dis- 
aster, to abandon him in the sunniest noon of his pros- 
perity. 

The next morning not a soul was to be seen in the 
streets; the shops were shut — the churches closed; the 
city was as under an interdict. The awful curse of the 
papal excommunication upon the chief magistrate of 
the Pontifical city, seemed to freeze up all the arteries 
of life. The Legate himself, affecting fear of his life, 
had fled to Monte Fiascone, where he was joined by 
the Barons immediately after the publication of the 
edict. The curse worked best in the absence of the 
execrator. 

Towards evening a few persons might be seen trav- 
ersing the broad space of the Capitol, crossing them- 
selves, as the bull, placarded on the Lion, met their 
eyes, and disappearing within the doors of the great 
palace. By and by, a few anxious groups collected 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 359 

in the streets, but they soon dispersed. It was a 
paralysis of all intercourse and commune. That spir- 
itual and unarmed authority, which, like the invisible 
hand of God, desolated the market-place, and humbled 
the crowned head, no physical force could rally against 
or resist. Yet through the universal awe, one convic- 
tion touched the multitude — it was for them that their 
Tribune was thus blasted in the midst of his glories ! 
The words of the Brand recorded against him on wall 
and column detailed his offences : — rebellion in assert- 
ing the liberties of Rome — heresy in purifying ec- 
clesiastical abuses ; — and to serve for a miserable 
covert to the rest, it was sacrilege for bathing in the 
porphyry vase of Constantine ! They felt the convic- 
tion ; they sighed — they shuddered — and, in his vast 
palace, save a few attached and devoted hearts, the 
Tribune was alone ! 

The staunchest of the Tuscan soldiery were gone 
with Irene. The rest of his force, save a few remain- 
ing guards, was the paid Roman militia, composed of 
citizens ; who, long discontented by the delay of their 
stipends, now seized on the excuse of the excommu- 
nication to remain passive, but grumbling, in their 
homes. 

On the third day, a new incident broke upon the 
death-like lethargy of the city; a hundred and fifty 
mercenaries, with Pepin of Minorbino, a Neapolitan, 
half noble, half bandit (a creature of Montreal’s), at 
their head, entered the city, seized upon the fortresses 
of the Colonna, and sent a herald through the city, 
proclaiming, in the name of the Cardinal Legate, the 
reward of ten thousand florins for the head of Cola di 
Rienzi. 

Then, swelled on high, shrill but not inspiring as of 


RIENZI 


360 

old, the great bell of the Capitol — the people, listless, 
disheartened, awed by the spiritual fear of the papal 
authority (yet greater, in such events, since the re- 
moval of the see), came unarmed to the Capitol ; and 
there, by the Place of the Lion, stood the Tribune. 
His ’squires, below the step, held his war-horse, his 
helm, and the same battle-axe which had blazed in 
the van of victorious war. 

Beside him were a few of his guard, his attendants, 
and two or three of the principal citizens. 

He stood bareheaded and erect, gazing upon the 
abashed and unarmed crowd with a look of bitter 
scorn, mingled with deep compassion ; and, as the bell 
ceased its toll, and the throng remained hushed and 
listening, he thus spoke : — 

“Ye come, then, once again ! Come ye as slaves or 
freemen? A handful of armed men are in your walls : 
will ye who chased from your gates the haughtiest 
knights — the most practised battle-men of Rome, suc- 
cumb now to one hundred and fifty hirelings and 
strangers? Will ye arm for your Tribune? You are 
silent ! — be it so. Will you arm for your own liberties 
— your own Rome ? Silent still ! By the saints that 
reign on the thrones of the heathen gods ! are ye thus 
fallen from your birthright? Have you no arms for 
your own defence ? Romans, hear me ! Have I 
wronged you ? — if so, by your hands let me die : and 
then, with knives yet reeking with my blood, go for- 
ward against the robber who is but the herald of your 
slavery; and I die honoured, grateful, and avenged. 
You weep! Great God! you weep! Ay, and I could 
weep, too — that I should live to speak of liberty in 
vain to Romans — Weep! is this an hour for tears? 
Weep now, and your tears shall ripen harvests of 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 361 

crime, and licence, and despotism, to come ! Romans, 
arm ! follow r^e at once to the Place of the Colonna : 
expel this ruffian — expel your enemy (no matter what 
afterwards you do to me) : ” he paused ; no ardour 
was kindled by his words — “ or,” he continued, “ I 
abandon you to your fate.” 

There was a long, low, general murmur; at length 
it became shaped into speech, and many voices cried 
simultaneously : “ The Pope’s bull — thou art a man 
accursed ! ” 

“ What ! ” cried the Tribune ; “ and is it ye who for- 
sake me, ye for whose cause alone man dares to hurl 
against me the thunders of his God? Is it not for you 
that I am declared heretic and rebel ! What are my 
imputed crimes? That I have made Rome and as- 
serted Italy to be free ; that I have subdued the proud 
Magnates, who were the scourge both of Pope and 
People. And you — you upbraid me with what I have 
dared and done for you ! Men, with you I would have 
fought, for you I would have perished. You forsake 
yourselves in forsaking me, and since I no longer rule 
over brave men, I resign my power to the tyrant you 
prefer. Seven months I have ruled over you, pros- 
perous in commerce, stainless in justice — victorious in 
the field ; — I have shown you what Rome could be ; 
and since I abdicate the government ye gave me, when 
I am gone, strike for your own freedom ! It matters 
nothing who is the chief of a brave and great people. 
Prove that Rome hath many a Rienzi, but of brighter 
fortunes.” 

“ I would he had not sought to tax us,” said Cecco 
del Vecchio, who was the very personification of the 
vulgar feeling : “ and that he had beheaded the 
Barons ! ” 


362 


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“ Ay ! ” cried the ex-gravedigger ; “ but that blessed 
porphyry vase ! ” 

“ And why should we get our throats cut,” said 
Luigi, the butcher, “ like my two brothers ? — Heaven 
rest them ! ” 

On the face of the general multitude there was a 
common expression of irresolution and shame, many 
wept and groaned, none (save the aforesaid grumblers) 
accused; none upbraided, but none seemed disposed to 
arm. It was one of those listless panics, those strange 
fits of indifference and lethargy which often seize upon 
a people who make liberty a matter of impulse and 
caprice, to whom it has become a catchword, who have 
not long enjoyed all its rational, and sound, and prac- 
tical, and blessed results ; who have been affrayed by 
the storms that herald its dawn ; — a people such as is 
common to the south : such as even the north has 
known ; such as, had Cromwell lived a year longer, 
even England might have seen ; and, indeed, in some 
measure, such a reaction from popular enthusiasm to 
popular indifference England did see, when her chil- 
dren madly surrendered the fruits of a bloody war, 
without reserve, without foresight, to the lewd pen- 
sioner of Louis, and the royal murderer of Sydney. 
To such prostration of soul, such blindness of intellect, 
even the noblest people will be subjected, when liberty, 
which should be the growth of ages, spreading its roots 
through the strata of a thousand customs, is raised, 
the exotic of an hour, and (like the Tree and Dryad 
of ancient fable) flourishes and withers with the single 
spirit that protects it. 

“ Oh, Heaven, that I were a man ! ” exclaimed An- 
gelo, who stood behind Rienzi. 

“ Hear him, hear the boy,” cried the Tribune ; “ out 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 363 

of the mouths of babes speaketh wisdom ! He wishes 
that he were a man, as ye are men, that he might do as 
ye should do. Mark me, — I ride with these faithful 
few through the quarter of the Colonna, before the 
fortress of your foe. Three times before that fortress 
shall my trumpet sound ; if at the third blast ye come 
not, armed as befits ye — I say not all, but three, but 
two, but one hundred of ye — I break up my wand of 
office, and the world shall say one hundred and fifty 
robbers quelled the soul of Rome, and crushed her 
magistrate and her laws ! ” 

With those words he descended the stairs, and 
mounted his charger ; the populace gave way in 
silence, and their Tribune and his slender train passed 
slowly on, and gradually vanished from the view of the 
increasing crowd. 

The Romans remained on the place, and after a 
pause, the demagogue Baroncelli, who saw an opening 
to his ambition, addressed them. Though not an elo- 
quent nor gifted man, he had the art of uttering the 
most popular commonplaces. And he knew the weak 
side of his audience, in their vanity, indolence, and 
arrogant pride. 

“ Look you, my masters,” said he, leaping up to the 
Place of the Lion ; “ the Tribune talks bravely — he 
always did — but the monkey used the cat for his chest- 
nuts ; he wants to thrust your paws into the fire ; you 
will not be so silly as to let him. The saints bless us ! 
But the Tribune, good man, gets a palace and has ban- 
quets, and bathes in a porphyry vase ; the more shame 
on him ! — in which San Sylvester christened the Em- 
peror Constantine : all this is worth fighting for ; but 
you, my masters, what do you get except hard blows, 
and a stare at a holyday spectacle ? Why, if you beat 


RIENZI 


364 

these fellows, you will have another tax on the wine : 
that will be your reward ! ” 

“ Hark ! ” cried Cecco, “ there sounds the trumpet, 
— a pity he wanted to tax us ! ” 

“ True,” cried Baroncelli, “ there sounds the trum- 
pet; a silver trumpet, by the Lord! Next week, if 
you help him out of the scrape, he’ll have a golden one. 
But go — why don’t you move, my friends? — ’tis but 
one hundred and fifty mercenaries. True, they are 
devils to fight, clad in armour from top to toe, but 
what then ? — if they do cut some four or five hundred 
throats you’ll beat them at last, and the Tribune will 
sup the merrier.” 

“ There sounds the second blast,” said the butcher. 
“ If my old mother had not lost two of us already, ’tis 
odds, but I’d strike a blow for the bold tribune.” 

“ You had better put more quicksilver in you,” con- 
tinued Baroncelli, “ or you will be too late. And what 
a pity that will be ! — if you believe the Tribune, he is 
the only man that can save Rome. What, you, the 
finest people in the world — you, not able to save your- 
selves ! — you, bound up with one man — you, not able 
to dictate to the Colonna and Orsini ! Why, who beat 
the Barons at San Lorenzo? Was it not you? Ah! 
you got the buffets, and the Tribune the moneta! 
Tush, my friends, let the man go; I warrant there are 
plenty as good as he to be bought a cheaper bar- 
gain. And, hark ! there is the third blast ; it is too 
late now ! ” 

As the trumpet from the distance sent forth its long 
and melancholy note, it was as the last warning of the 
parting genius of the place; and when silence swal- 
lowed up the sound, a gloom fell over the whole as- 
sembly. They began to regret, to repent, when regret 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 365 

and repentance availed no more. The buffoonery 
of Baroncelli became suddenly displeasing; and the 
orator had the mortification of seeing his audience dis- 
perse in all directions, just as he was about to inform 
them what great things he himself could do in their 
behalf. 

Meanwhile the Tribune, passing unscathed through 
the dangerous quarter of the enemy, who, dismayed 
at his approach, shrunk within their fortress, pro- 
ceeded to the Castle of St. Angelo, whither Nina had 
already preceded him ; and which he entered to find 
that proud lady with a smile for his safety, — without a 
tear for his reverse. 


CHAPTER VII 

THE SUCCESSORS OF AN UNSUCCESSFUL REVOLUTION 

WHO IS TO BLAME THE FORSAKEN ONE OR THE 

FORSAKERS? 

Cheerfully broke the winter sun over the streets 
of Rome, as the army of the Barons swept along them. 
The Cardinal Legate at the head ; the old Colonna (no 
longer haughty and erect, but bowed, and broken- 
hearted at the loss of his sons) at his right hand ; — the 
sleek smile of Luca Savelli — the black frown of Rinal- 
do Orsini, were seen close behind. A long but bar- 
barous array it was; made up chiefly of foreign hire- 
lings ; nor did the procession resemble the return of 
exiled citizens, but the march of invading foes. 

“ My Lord Colonna,” said the Cardinal Legate, a 
small withered man, by birth a Frenchman, and full of 
the bitterest prejudices against the Romans, who had 


RIENZI 


366 

in a former mission very ill received him, as was their 
wont with foreign ecclesiastics ; “ this Pepin, whom 
Montreal has deputed at your orders, hath done us 
indeed good service. ,, 

The old Lord bowed, but made no answer. His 
strong intellect was already broken, and there was 
dotage in his glassy eye. The Cardinal muttered, 
“ He hears me not ; sorrow hath brought him to second 
childhood ! ” and looking back, motioned to Luca 
Savelli to approach. 

“ Luca/’ said the Legate, “ it was fortunate that the 
Hungarian’s black banner detained the Provencal at 
Aversa. Had he entered Rome, we might have found 
Rienzi’s successor worse than the Tribune himself. 
Montreal,” he added, with a slight emphasis and a 
curled lip, “ is a gentleman, and a Frenchman. This 
Pepin, who is his delegate, we must bribe, or menace 
to our will.” 

“ Assuredly,” answered Savelli, “ it is not a difficult 
task : for Montreal calculated on a more stubborn con- 
test, which he himself would have found leisure to 
close ” 

“ As Podesta, or Prince of Rome ! the modest man ! 
We Frenchmen have a due sense of our own merits; 
but this sudden victory surprises him as it doth us, 
Luca; and we shall wrest the prey from Pepin, ere 
Montreal can come to his help ! But Rienzi must die. 
He is still, I hear, shut up in St. Angelo. The Orsini 
shall storm him there ere the day be much older. To- 
day we possess the Capitol — annul all the rebel’s laws 
— break up his ridiculous parliament, and put all the 
government of the city under three senators — Rinaldo 
Orsini, Colonna, and myself; you, my Lord, I trust, 
we shall fitly provide for.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 367 

“ Oh ! I am rewarded enough by returning to my 
palace; and a descent on the Jewellers’ quarter will 
soon build up its fortifications. Luca Savelli is not 
an ambitious man. He wants but to live in peace.” 

The Cardinal smiled sourly, and took the turn 
towards the Capitol. 

In the front space the usual gapers were assembled. 
“ Make way ! make way ! knaves ! ” cried the guards, 
trampling on either side the crowd, who, accustomed 
to the sedate and courteous order of Rienzi’s guard, 
fell back too slowly for many of them to escape severe 
injury from the pikes of the soldiers and the hoofs 
of the horses. Our friend, Luigi, the butcher, was 
one of these, and the surliness of the Roman blood was 
past boiling heat when he received in his ample stom- 
ach the blunt end of a German’s pike. “ There, 
Roman,” said the rude mercenary, in his barbarous 
attempt at Italian, “ make way for your betters ; you 
have had enough crowds and shows of late, in all con- 
science.” 

“ Betters ! ” gulped out the poor butcher ; “ a Ro- 
man has no betters; and if I had not lost two brothers 
by San Lorenzo, I would ” 

“ The dog is mutinous,” said one of the followers 
of the Orsini, succeeding the German who had passed 
on, “ and talks of San Lorenzo ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” said another Orsinist, who rode abreast, 
“ I remember him of old. He was one of Rienzi’s 
gang.” 

“ Was he? ” said the other, sternly; “ then we can- 
not begin salutary examples too soon ; ” and, offended 
at something swaggering and insolent in the butcher’s 
look, the Orsinist coolly thrust him through the heart 
with his pike, and rode on over his body. 


3 68 


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“ Shame ! Shame ! ” “ Murder ! Murder ! ” cried 

the crowd : and they began to press, in the passion of 
the moment, round the fierce guards. 

The Legate heard the cry, and saw the rush : he 
turned pale. “ The rascals rebel again ! ” he faltered. 

“ No, your Eminence — no,” said Luca ; “ but it may 
be as well to infuse a wholesome terror; they are all 
unarmed ; let me bid the guards disperse them. A 
word will do it.” 

The Cardinal assented ; the word was given ; and, 
in a few minutes, the soldiery, who still smarted under 
the vindictive memory of defeat from an undisciplined 
multitude, scattered the crowd down the street without 
scruple or mercy — riding over some, spearing others — 
filling the air with shrieks and yells, and strewing the 
ground with almost as many men as a few days before 
would have sufficed to have guarded Rome, and pre- 
served the constitution ! Through this wild, tumul- 
tuous scene, and over the bodies of its victims, rode 
the Legate and his train, to receive in the Hall of the 
Capitol the allegiance of the citizens, and to proclaim 
the return of the oppressors. 

As they dismounted at the stairs, a placard in large 
letters struck the eye of the Legate. It was placed 
upon the pedestal of the Lion of Basalt, covering the 
very place that had been occupied by the bull of ex- 
communication. The words were few, and ran thus : 

“ Tremble ! Rienzi shall return ! ” 

“ How ! what means this mummery ! ” cried the 
Legate, trembling already, and looking round to the 
nobles. 

“ Please your Eminence,” said one of the council- 
lors, who had come from the Capitol to meet the 
Legate, “ we saw it at daybreak, the ink yet moist, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 369 

as we entered the Hall. We deemed it best to leave 
it for your Eminence to deal with.” 

“ You deemed ! Who are you , then? ” 

“ One of the members of the Council, your Em- 
inence, and a stanch opponent of the Tribune, as is 
well known, when he wanted the new tax ” 

“ Council — trash ! No more councils now ! Order 
is restored at last. The Orsini and the Colonna will 
look to you in future. Resist a tax, did you? Well, 
that was right when proposed by a tyrant ; but I warn 
you, friend, to take care how you resist the tax we 
shall impose. Happy if your city can buy its peace 
with the Church on any terms : — and his Holiness is 
short of the florins.” 

The discomfited councillor shrunk back. 

“ Tear off yon insolent placard. Nay, hold ! fix over 
it our proclamation of ten thousand florins for the 
heretic’s head! Ten thousand? methinks that is too 
much now — we will alter the cypher. Meanwhile 
Rinaldo Orsini, Lord Senator, march thy soldiers 
to St. Angelo; let us see if the heretic can stand a 
siege.” 

“ It needs not, your Eminence,” said the councillor, 
again officiously bustling up ; “ St. Angelo is surren- 
dered. The Tribune, his wife, and one page, escaped 
last night, it is said, in disguise.” 

“ Ha ! ” said the old Colonna, whose dulled sense 
had at length arrived at the conclusion that something 
extraordinary arrested the progress of his friends. 
“ What is the matter? What is that placard? Will 
no one tell me the words ? My old eyes are dim.” 

As he uttered the questions, in the shrill and piercing 
treble of age, a voice replied in a loud and deep tone — 
none knew whence it came ; the crowd was reduced to 


24 


370 


RIENZI 


a few stragglers, chiefly friars in cowl and serge, whose 
curiosity nought could daunt, and whose garb ensured 
them safety — the soldiers closed the rear: a voice, I 
say, came, startling the colour from many a cheek — 
in answer to the Colonna, saying : 

“Tremble! Rienzi shall return !” 


BOOK VI 


THE PLAGUE 

“ Erano gli anni dolla fruttifera Incarnazione del Figliuolo 
di Dio al numero pervenuti di mille trecento quarant’otto, 
quando nell’ egregia citta di Fiorenza oitre ad ogni altra 
Italica bellissima, pervenne la mortifera pestilenza.” — Boc- 
caccio, Introduzione al Decamerone. 

“ The years of the fructiferous incarnation of the Son of 
God had reached the number of one thousand three hundred 
and forty-eight, when into the illustrious city of Florence, 
beautiful beyond every other in Italy, entered the death- 
fraught pestilence .” — Introduction to the Decameron. 


CHAPTER I 

THE RETREAT OF THE LOVER 

By the borders of one of the fairest lakes of North- 
ern Italy stood the favourite mansion of Adrian di Cas- 
tello, to which in his softer and less patriotic moments 
his imagination had often and fondly turned; and 
thither the young nobleman, dismissing his more 
courtly and distinguished companions in the. Neapoli- 
tan embassy, retired after his ill-starred return to 
Rome. Most of those thus dismissed joined the 
Barons ; the young Annibaldi, whose daring and am- 
bitious nature had attached him strongly to the Trib- 
une, maintained a neutral ground ; he betook himself 
to his castle in the Campagna, and did not return to 
Rome till the expulsion of Rienzi. 

The retreat of Irene’s lover was one well fitted to 


37i 


372 


RIENZI 


feed his melancholy reveries. Without being abso- 
lutely a fortress, it was sufficiently strong to resist any 
assault of the mountain robbers or petty tyrants in the 
vicinity; while, built by some former lord from the 
materials of the half-ruined villas of the ancient Ro- 
mans, its marbled columns and tessellated pavements 
relieved with a wild grace the gray stone walls and 
massive towers of feudal masonry. Rising from a 
green eminence gently sloping to the lake, the stately 
pile cast its shadow far and dark over the beautiful 
waters ; by its side, from the high and wooded moun- 
tains on the background, broke a waterfall, in irregu- 
lar and sinuous course — now hid by the foliage, now 
gleaming in the light, and collecting itself at last in a 
broad basin — beside which a little fountain, inscribed 
with half-obliterated letters, attested the departed 
elegance of the classic age — some memento of lord 
and poet whose very names were lost ; thence descend- 
ing through mosses and lichen, and odorous herbs, a 
brief, sheeted stream bore its surplus into the lake, 
And there, amidst the sturdier and bolder foliage of 
the North, grew, wild and picturesque, many a tree 
transplanted, in ages back, from the sunnier East ; not 
blighted nor stunted in that golden clime, which fos- 
ters almost every produce of nature as with a mother’s 
care. The place was remote and solitary. The roads 
that conducted to it from the distant towns were 
tangled, intricate, mountainous, and beset by robbers. 
A few cottages, and a small convent, a quarter of a 
league up the verdant margin, were the nearest habita- 
tions : and, save by some occasional pilgrim or some 
bewildered traveller, the loneliness of the mansion was 
rarely invaded. It was precisely the spot which prof- 
fered rest to a man weary of the world, and indulged 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 373 

the memories which grow in rank luxuriance over the 
wrecks of passion. And he whose mind, at once gen- 
tle and self-dependent, can endure solitude, might have 
ransacked all earth for a more fair and undisturbed 
retreat. 

But not to such a solitude had the earlier dreams 
of Adrian dedicated the place. Here had he thought 
— should one bright being have presided — here should 
love have found its haven : and hither, when love at 
length admitted of intrusion, hither might wealth and 
congenial culture have invited all the gentler and bet- 
ter spirits which had begun to move over the troubled 
face of Italy, promising a second and younger empire 
of poesy, and lore, and art. To the graceful and 
romantic but somewhat pensive and inert, tempera- 
ment of the young noble, more adapted to calm and 
civilised than stor-my and barbarous times, ambition 
proffered no reward so grateful as lettered leisure and 
intellectual repose. His youth coloured by the in- 
fluence of Petrarch, his manhood had dreamed of a 
happier Vaucluse not untenanted by a Laura. The 
visions which had connected the scene with the image 
of Irene made the place still haunted by her shade ; 
and time and absence only ministering to his impas- 
sioned meditations, deepened his melancholy and in- 
creased his love. 

In this lone retreat — which even in describing from 
memory, for these eyes have seen, these feet have trod- 
den, this heart yet yearneth for, the spot — which even, I 
say, in thus describing, seems to me (and haply also to 
the gentle reader) a grateful and welcome transit from 
the storms of action and the vicissitudes of ambition, 
so long engrossing the narrative ; — in this lone retreat 
Adrian passed the winter, which visits with so mild 


374 


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a change that intoxicating clime. The roar of the 
world without was borne but in faint and indistinct 
murmurings to his ear. He learned only imperfectly, 
and with many contradictions, the news which broke 
like a thunderbolt over Italy, that the singular and as- 
piring man — himself a revolution — who had excited 
the interest of all Europe, the brightest hopes of the 
enthusiastic, the profusest adulation of the great, the 
deepest terror of the despot, the wildest aspirations of 
all free spirits, had been suddenly stricken from his 
state, his name branded and his head proscribed. This 
event, which happened at the end of December, 
reached Adrian, through a wandering pilgrim, at the 
commencement of March, somewhat more than two 
months after the date ; the March of that awful year 
1348, which saw Europe, and Italy especially, deso- 
lated by the direst pestilence which history has re- 
corded, accursed alike by the numbers and the celeb- 
rity of its victims, and yet strangely connected with 
some not unpleasing images by the grace of Boccaccio 
and the eloquence of Petrarch. 

The pilgrim who informed Adrian of the revolution 
at Rome was unable to give him any clue to the pres- 
ent fate of Rienzi or his family. It was only known 
that the Tribune and his wife had escaped, none knew 
whither; many guessed that they were already dead, 
victims to the numerous robbers who immediately on 
the fall of the Tribune settled back to their former 
habits, sparing neither age nor sex, wealth nor pov- 
erty. As all relating to the ex-Tribune was matter of 
eager interest, the pilgrim had also learned that, 
previous to the fall of Rienzi, his sister had left Rome, 
but it was not known to what place she had been con- 
veyed. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 375 


The news utterly roused Adrian from his dreaming 
life. Irene was then in the condition his letter dared 
to picture — severed from her brother, fallen from her 
rank, desolate and friendless. “ Now,” said the gen- 
erous and high-hearted lover, “ she may be mine with- 
out a disgrace to my name. Whatever Rienzi’s faults, 
she is not implicated in them. Her hands are not red 
with my kinsman’s blood ; nor can men say that Adrian 
di Castello allies himself with a House whose power is 
built upon the ruins of the Colonnas. The Colonna 
are restored — again triumphant — Rienzi is nothing — 
distress and misfortune unite me at once to her on 
whom they fall ! ” 

But how were these romantic resolutions to be exe- 
cuted — Irene’s dwelling-place unknown ? He resolved 
himself to repair to Rome and make the necessary in- 
quiries : accordingly he summoned his retainers : — 
blithe tidings to them, those of travel ! The mail left 
the armoury — the banner the hall — and after two days 
of animated bustle, the fountain by which Adrian had 
passed so many hours of reverie was haunted only by 
the birds of the returning spring ; and the nightly lamp 
no longer cast its solitary ray from his turret chamber 
over the bosom of the deserted lake. 


CHAPTER II 

THE SEEKER 

It was a bright, oppressive, sultry morning, when 
a solitary horseman was seen winding that unequalled 
road, from whose height, amidst fig-trees, vines, and 
olives, the traveller beholds gradually break upon his 


RIENZI 


376 

gaze the enchanting valley of the Arno, and the spires 
and domes of Florence. But not with the traveller’s 
customary eye of admiration and delight passed that 
solitary horseman, and not upon the usual activity, and 
mirth, and animation of the Tuscan life, broke that 
noon-day sun. All was silent, void and hushed; and 
even in the light of heaven there seemed a sickbed and 
ghastly glare. The cottages by the road-side were 
some shut up and closed, some open, but seemingly 
inmateless. The plough stood still, the distaff plied 
not : horse and man had a dreary holiday. There was 
a darker curse upon the land than the curse of Cain ! 
Now and then a single figure, usually clad in the 
gloomy robe of a friar, crossed the road, lifting 
towards the traveller a livid and amazed stare, and 
then hurried on, and vanished beneath some roof, 
whence issued a faint and dying moan, which but for 
the exceeding stillness around could scarcely have 
pierced the threshold. As the traveller neared the 
city, the scene became less solitary, yet more dread. 
There might be seen carts and litters, thick awnings 
wrapped closely round them, containing those who 
sought safety in flight, forgetful that the Plague was 
everywhere! And while these gloomy vehicles, con- 
ducted by horses, gaunt, shadowy skeletons, crawling 
heavily along, passed by, like hearses of the dead, 
sometimes a cry burst the silence in which they moved, 
and the traveller’s steed started aside, as some wretch, 
on whom the disease had broke forth, was dropped 
from the vehicle by the selfish inhumanity of his com- 
rades, and left to perish by the way. Hard by the 
gate a waggon paused, and a man with a mask threw 
out its contents in a green slimy ditch that bordered 
the road. These were garments and robes of all kind 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 3 77 


and value ; the broidered mantle of the gallant, the 
hood and veil of my lady, and the rags of the peasant. 
While glancing at the labour of the masker, the cava- 
lier beheld a herd of swine, gaunt and half famished, 
run to the spot in the hopes of food, and the traveller 
shuddered to think what food they might have antici- 
pated ! But ere he reached the gate, those of the ani- 
mals that had been busiest rooting at the infectious 
heap, dropped down dead amongst their fellows.* 

“ Ho, ho,” said the masker, and his hollow voice 
sounded yet more hollow through his vizard, — “ com- 
est thou here to die, stranger? See, thy brave mantle 
of triple-pile and golden broidery will not save thee 
from the gavocciolo.f Ride on, ride on; — to-day fit 
morsel for thy lady’s kiss, to-morrow too foul for the 
rat and worm ! ” 

Replying not to this hideous welcome, Adrian, for 
it was he, pursued his way. The gates stood wide 
open : this was the most appalling sign of all, for, at 
first, the most jealous precaution had been taken 
against the ingress of strangers. Now all care, all 
foresight, all vigilance, were vain. And thrice nine 
warders had died at that single post, and the officers 
to appoint their successors were dead too ! Law and 
Police, and the Tribunals of Health, and the Boards 
of Safety, Death had stopped them all! And the 
Plague killed art itself, social union, the harmony and 
mechanism of civilisation, as if they had been bone 
and flesh ! 

So, mute and solitary, went on the lover, in his quest 
of love, resolved to find and to save his betrothed, and 

* The same spectacle greeted, and is recorded by, Boc- 
caccio. 

t The tumour that made the fatal symptom. 


378 


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guided (that faithful and loyal knight!) through the 
Wilderness of Horror by the/ blessed hope of that 
strange passion, noblest of all when noble, basest of 
all when base ! He came into a broad and spacious 
square lined with palaces, the usual haunt of the best 
and most graceful nobility of Italy. The stranger was 
alone now, and the tramp of his gallant steed sounded 
ghastly and fearful in his own ears, when just as he 
turned the corner of one of the streets that led from 
it, he saw a woman steal forth with a child in her arms, 
while another, yet in infancy, clung to her robe. She 
held a large bunch of flowers to her nostrils (the fancied 
and favourite mode to prevent infection), and mut- 
tered to the children, who were moaning with hunger, 
— “ Yes, yes, you shall have food! Plenty of food 
now for the stirring forth. But oh, that stirring 
forth! ” — and she peered about and round, lest any of 
the diseased might be near. 

“ My friend,” said he, “ can you direct me to the 
convent of ” 

“ Away, man, away ! ” shrieked the woman. 

“ Alas ! ” said Adrian, with a mournful smile, “ can 
you not see that I am not, as yet, one to spread con- 
tagion ? ” 

But the woman, unheeding him, fled on ; when, after 
a few paces, she was arrested by the child that clung 
to her. 

“ Mother, mother ! ” it cried, “ I am sick — I cannot 
stir.” 

The woman halted, tore aside the child’s robe, saw 
under the arm the fatal tumour, and, deserting her 
own flesh, fled with a shriek along the square. The 
shriek rung long in Adrian’s ears, though not aware 
of the unnatural cause ; — the mother feared not for her 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 379 

infant , but herself. The voice of Nature was no more 
heeded in that charnel city than it is in the tomb itself ! 
Adrian rode on at a brisker pace, and came at length 
before a stately church ; its doors were wide open, and 
he saw within a company of monks (the church had 
no other worshippers, and they were masked) gathered 
round the altar, and chanting the Miserere Domine ; — 
the ministers of God, in a city hitherto boasting the de- 
voutest population in Italy, without a flock ! 

The young Cavalier paused before the door, and 
waited till the service was done, and the monks de- 
scended the steps into the street. 

“ Holy fathers,” said he then, “ may I pray your 
goodness to tell me my nearest way to the convent 
Santa Maria de’ Pazzi ? ” 

“ Son,” said one of these featureless spectres, for so 
they seemed in their shroud-like robes, and uncouth 
vizards, — “ son, pass on your way, and God be with 
you. Robbers or revellers may now fill the holy 
cloisters you speak of. The abbess is dead ; and many 
a sister sleeps with her. And the nuns have fled from 
the contagion.” 

Adrian half fell from his horse, and, as he still re- 
mained rooted to the spot, the dark procession swept 
on, hymning in solemn dirge through the desolate 
street the monastic chaunt — 

“ By the Mother and the Son, 

Death endured and mercy won; 

Spare us, sinners though we be; 

Miserere Domine! ” 

Recovering from his stupor, Adrian regained the 
brethren, and, as they closed the burthen of their song, 
again accosted them. 

“ Holy fathers, dismiss me not thus. Perchance the 


380 


RIENZI 


one I seek may yet be heard of at the convent. Tell 
me which way to shape my course.” 

“ Disturb us not, son,” said the monk who spoke 
before. “ It is an ill omen for thee to break thus upon 
the invocations of the ministers of Heaven.” 

“ Pardon, pardon ! I will do ample penance, pay 
many masses ; but I seek a dear friend — the way — the 
way ” 

“ To the right, till you gain the first bridge. Be- 
yond the third bridge, on the river side, you will find 
the convent,” said another monk, moved by the ear- 
nestness of Adrian. 

“ Bless you, holy father,” faltered forth the Cavalier, 
and spurred his steed in the direction given. The 
friars heeded him not, but again resumed their dirge. 
Mingled with the sound of his horse's hoofs on the 
clattering pavement, came to the rider’s ear the im- 
ploring line — „ ... .. . , „ 

Miserere Domme! 


Impatient, sick at heart, desperate, Adrian flew 
through the street at the full speed of his horse. He 
passed the market-place — it was empty as the desert ; 
— the gloomy and barricaded streets, in which the 
counter cries of Guelf and Ghibelline had so often 
cheered on the Chivalry and Rank of Florence. Now 
huddled together in vault and pit, lay Guelf and Ghib- 
elline, knightly spurs and beggar’s crutch. To that 
silence the roar even of civil strife would have been 
a blessing ! The first bridge, the river side, the 
second, the third bridge, all were gained, and Adrian 
at last reined his steed before the walls of the convent. 
He fastened his steed to the porch, in which the door 
stood ajar, half torn from its hinges, traversed the 
court, gained the opposite door that admitted to the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 381 

main building, came to the jealous grating, how no 
more a barrier from the profane world, and as he there 
paused a moment to recover breath and nerve, wild 
laughter and loud song, interrupted and mixed with 
oaths, startled his ear. He pushed aside the grated 
door, entered, and, led by the sounds, came to the re- 
fectory. In that meeting-place of the severe and mor- 
tified maids of heaven, he now beheld gathered round 
the upper table, used of yore by the abbess, a strange, 
disorderly, ruffian herd, who at first glance seemed in- 
deed of all ranks, for some wore serge, or even rags, 
others were tricked out in all the bravery of satin and 
velvet, plume and mantle. But a second glance suf- 
ficed to indicate that the companions were much of 
the same degree, and that the finery of the more showy 
was but the spoil rent from unguarded palaces or ten- 
antless bazaars ; for under plumed hats, looped with 
jewels, were grim, unwashed, unshaven faces, over 
which hung the lctng locks which the professed breth- 
ren of the sharp knife and hireling arm had just begun 
to assume, serving them often instead of a mask. 
Amidst these savage revellers were many women, 
young and middle-aged, foul and fair, and Adrian 
piously shuddered to see amongst the loose robes and 
uncovered necks of the professional harlots the saintly 
habit and beaded rosary of nuns. Flasks of wine, 
ample viands, gold and silver vessels, mostly conse- 
crated to holy rites, strewed the board. As the young 
Roman paused spell-bound at the threshold, the man 
who acted as president of the revel, a huge, swarthy 
ruffian, with a deep scar over his face, which, trav- 
ersing the whole of the left cheek and upper lip, gave 
his large features an aspect preternaturally hideous, 
called out to him — 


382 


RIENZI 


“ Come in, man — come in ! Why stand you there 
amazed and dumb? We are hospitable revellers, and 
give all men welcome. Here are wine and women. 
My Lord Bishop’s wine and my Lady Abbess’s 
women ! 

“ Sing hey, sing ho, for the royal Death, 

That scatters a host with a single breath ; 

That opens the prison to spoil the palace, 

And rids honest necks from the hangman’s malice. 

Here’s a health to the Plague! Let the mighty ones dread, 
The poor never lived till the wealthy were dead. 

A health to the Plague! may she ever as now 

Loose the rogue from his chain and the nun from her vow; 

To the gaoler a sword, to the captive a key, 

Hurrah for Earth’s Curse — ’tis a blessing to me! ” 

Ere this fearful stave was concluded, Adrian, sen- 
sible that in such orgies there was no chance of prose- 
cuting his inquiries, left the desecrated chamber and 
fled, scarcely drawing breath, so great was the terror 
that seized him, till he stood once more in the court 
amidst the hot, sickly, stagnant sunlight, that seemed 
a fit atmosphere for the scenes on which it fell. He 
resolved, however, not to desert the place without 
making another effort at inquiry ; and while he stood 
without the court, musing and doubtful, he saw a small 
chapel hard by, through whose long casement gleamed 
faintly, and dimmed by the noon-day, the light of 
tapers. He turned towards its porch, entered, and 
saw beside the sanctuary a single nun kneeling in 
prayer. In the narrow aisle, upon a long table, (at 
either end of which burned the tall dismal tapers whose 
rays had attracted him,) the drapery of several shrouds 
showed him the half-distinct outline of human figures 
hushed in death. Adrian himself, impressed by the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 383 

sadness and sanctity of the place, and the touching 
sight of that solitary and unselfish watcher of the dead, 
knelt down and intensely prayed. 

As he rose, somewhat relieved from the burthen at 
his heart, the nun rose also, and started to perceive 
him. 

“ Unhappy man ! ” said she, in a voice which, low, 
faint, and solemn, sounded as a ghost’s — “ what fatal- 
ity brings thee hither ? Seest thou not thou art in the 
presence of clay which the Plague hath touched — thou 
breathest the air which destroys ! Hence ! and search 
throughout all the desolation for one spot where the 
Dark Visitor hath not come ! ” 

“ Holy maiden,” answered Adrian, “ the danger you 
hazard does not appal me ; — I seek one whose life is 
dearer than my own.” 

“ Thou needest say no more to tell me thou art 
newly come to Florence ! Here son forsakes his 
father, and mother deserts her child. When life is 
most hopeless, these worms of a day cling to it as if it 
were the salvation of immortality ! But for me alone, 
death has no horror. Long severed from the world, 
I have seen my sisterhood perish — the house of God 
desecrated — its altar overthrown, and I care not to 
survive, — the last whom the Pestilence leaves at once 
unperjured and alive.” 

The nun paused a few moments, and then, looking 
earnestly at the healthful countenance and unbroken 
frame of Adrian, sighed heavily — “ Stranger, why fly 
you not ? ” she said. “ Thou mightest as well search 
the crowded vaults and rotten corruption of the dead, 
as search the city for one living.” 

“ Sister, and bride of the blessed Redeemer ! ” re- 
turned the Roman, clasping his hands — “ one word I 


RIENZI 


384 

implore thee. Thou art, methinks, of the sisterhood 
of yon dismantled convent; tell me, knowest thou if 
Irene di Gabrini,* — guest of the late Abbess, sister of 
the fallen Tribune of Rome, — be yet amongst the 
living? " 

“ Art thou her brother, then ? ” said the nun. “ Art 
thou that fallen Sun of the Morning ? ” 

“ I am her betrothed/' replied Adrian, sadly. 
“ Speak." 

“ Oh, flesh ! flesh ! how art thou victor to the last, 
even amidst the triumphs and in the lazar-house of 
corruption!" said the nun. “Vain man! think not 
of such carnal ties; make thy peace with heaven, for 
thy days are surely numbered ! " 

“Woman!" cried Adrian, impatiently — “talk not 
to me of myself, nor rail against ties whose holiness 
thou canst not know. I ask thee again, as thou thy- 
self hopest for mercy and for pardon, is Irene living? " 
The nun was awed by the energy of the young lover, 
and after a moment, which seemed to him an age of 
agonised suspense, she replied — 

“ The maiden thou speakest of died not with the 
general death. In the dispersion of the few remain- 
ing, she left the convent — I know not whither; but she 
had friends in Florence — their names I cannot tell 
thee." 

“ Now bless thee, holy sister ! bless thee ! How 
long since she left the convent? " 

“ Four days have passed since the robber and the 
harlot have seized the house of Santa Maria," replied 
the nun, groaning : “ and they were quick successors 
to the sisterhood." 


* The family name of Rienzi was Gabrini. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 385 

“ Four days ! — and thou canst give me no clue? ” 

“ None — yet stay, young man! ” — and the nun, ap- 
proaching, lowered her voice to a hissing whisper — ' 
“ Ask the Becchini”* 

Adrian started aside, crossed himself hastily, and 
quitted the convent without answer. He returned to 
his horse, and rode back into the silenced heart of the 
city. Tavern and hotel there were no more; but the 
palaces of dead princes were free to the living stranger. 
He entered one — a spacious and splendid mansion. 
In the stables he found forage still in the manger ; but 
the horses, at that time in the Italian cities a proof of 
rank as well as wealth, were gone with the hands that 
fed them. The high-born Knight assumed the office 
of groom, took off the heavy harness, fastened his steed 
to the rack, and as the wearied animal, unconscious 
of the surrounding horrors, fell eagerly upon its meal, 
its young lord turned away, and muttered, “ Faithful 
servant, and sole companion ! may the pestilence that 
spareth neither beast nor man, spare thee ! and may’st 
thou bear me hence with a lighter heart ! ” 

A spacious hall, hung with arms and banners — a 
wide flight of marble stairs, whose walls were painted 
in the stiff outlines and gorgeous colours of the day, 
conducted to vast chambers, hung with velvets and 
cloth of gold, but silent as the tomb. He threw him- 
self upon the cushions which were piled in the centre 
of the room, for he had ridden far that morning, and 
for many days before, and he was wearied and ex- 

* According to the usual custom of Florence, the dead were 
borne to their resting-place on biers, supported by citizens of 
equal rank; but a new trade was created by the plague, and 
men of the lowest dregs of the populace, bribed by immense 
payment, discharged the office of transporting the remains of 
the victims. These were called Becchini. 

25 


3 86 


RIENZI 


hausted, body and limb ; but he could not rest. Im- 
patience, anxiety, hope, and fear, gnawed his heart 
and fevered his veins, and, after a brief and unsatisfac- 
tory attempt to sober his own thoughts, and devise 
some plan of search more certain than that which 
chance might afford him, he rose, and traversed the 
apartments, in the unacknowledged hope which chance 
alone could suggest. 

It was easy to see that he had made his resting- 
place in the home of one of the princes of the land; 
and the splendour of all around him far outshone the 
barbarous and rude magnificence of the less civilised 
and wealthy Romans. Here, lay the lute as last 
touched — the gilded and illumined volume as last 
conned ; there, were seats drawn familiarly together, as 
when lady and gallant had interchanged whispers last. 

“ And such,” thought Adrian, — “ such desolation 
may soon swallow up the vestige of the unwelcomed 
guest, as of the vanished lord ! ” 

At length he entered a saloon, in which was a table 
still spread with wine-flasks, goblets of glass, and one 
of silver, withered flowers, half-mouldy fruits, and 
viands. At one side the arras, folding-doors opened to 
a broad flight of stairs, that descended to a little garden 
at the back of the house, in which a fountain still 
played sparkling and livingly — the only thing, save the 
stranger, living there ! On the steps lay a crimson 
mantle, and by it a lady’s glove. The relics seemed 
to speak to the lover’s heart of a lover’s last wooing 
and last farewell. He groaned aloud, and feeling he 
should have need of all his strength, filled one of the 
goblets from a half-emptied flask of Cyprus wine. He 
drained the draught — it revived him. “ Now,” he 
said, “ once more to my task ! — I will sally forth,” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 387 

when suddenly he heard heavy steps along the rooms 
he had quitted — they approached — they entered; and 
Adrian beheld two huge and ill-omened forms stalk 
into the chamber. They were wrapped in black 
homely draperies ; their arms were bare, and they wore 
large shapeless masks, which descended to the breast, 
leaving only access to sight and breath in three small 
and circular apertures. The Colonna half drew his 
sword, for the forms and aspects of these visitors were 
not such as men think to look upon in safety. 

“ Oh ! ” said one, “ the palace has a new guest to- 
day. Fear us not, stranger; there is room, — ay, and 
wealth enough for all men now in Florence ! Per 
Bacco ! but there is still one goblet of silver left — how 
comes that ? ” So saying, the man seized the cup 
which Adrian had just drained, and thrust it into his 
breast. He then turned to Adrian, whose hand was 
still upon his hilt, and said, with a laugh which came 
choked and muffled through his vizard — “ Oh, we cut 
no throats, Signor ; the Invisible spares us that trouble. 
We are honest men, state officers, and come but to see 
if the cart should halt here to-night.” 

“Ye are then ” 

“ Becchini ! ” 

Adrian’s blood ran cold. The Becchino continued 
— “ And keep you this house while you rest at Flor- 
ence, Signor? ” 

“ Yes, if the rightful lord claim it not.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ‘ Rightful lord ! ’ The Plague is Lord of 
all now ! Why, I have known three gallant com- 
panies tenant this palace the last week, and have buried 
them all — all! It is a pleasant house enough, and 
gives good custom. Are you alone ? ” 

“ At present, yes,” 


388 


RIENZI 


“ Shew us where you sleep, that we may know 
where to come for you. You won’t want us these 
three days, I see.” 

“Ye are pleasant welcomers ! ” said Adrian ; — “ but 
listen to me. Can ye find the living as well as bury 
the dead ? I seek one in this city who, if you discover 
her, shall be worth to you a year of burials.” 

“ No, no ! that is out of our line. As well look for 
a dropped sand on the beach, as for a living being 
amongst closed houses and yawning vaults ; but if you 
will pay the poor grave-diggers beforehand, I promise 
you, you shall have the first of a new charnel-house : — 
it will be finished just about your time.” 

“ There ! ” said Adrian, flinging the wretches a few 
pieces of gold— “ there ! and if you would do me a 
kinder service, leave me, at least while living; or I 
may save you that trouble.” And he turned from the 
room. 

The Becchino who had been spokesman followed 
him. 

“You are generous, Signor, stay; you will want 
fresher food than these filthy fragments. I will supply 
thee of the best, while — while thou wantest it. And 
hark, — whom wishest thou that I should seek ? ” 

This question arrested Adrian’s departure. He de- 
tailed the name, and all the particulars he could sug- 
gest of Irene ; and, with sickened heart, described the 
hair, features, and stature of that lovely and hallowed 
image, which might furnish a theme to the poet, and 
now gave a clue to the grave-digger. 

The unhallowed apparition shook his head when 
Adrian had concluded. “ Full five hundred such de- 
scriptions did I hear in the first days of the Plague, 
when there were still such things as mistress and lover ; 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 389 

but it is a dainty catalogue, Signor, and it will be a 
pride to the poor Becchino to discover or even to bury 
so many charms ! I will do my best ; meanwhile, I 
can recommend you, if in a hurry, to make the best 
of your time, to many a pretty face and comely 
shape ” 

“ Out, fiend ! ” muttered Adrian : “ fool to waste 
time with such as thou ! ” 

The laugh of the grave-digger followed his steps. 

All that day did Adrian wander through the city, 
but search and questioning were alike unavailing; all 
whom he encountered and interrogated seemed to re- 
gard him as a madman, and these were indeed of no 
kind likely to advance his object. Wild troops of dis- 
ordered, drunken revellers, processions of monks, or 
here and there, scattered individuals gliding rapidly 
along, and shunning all approach or speech, made the 
only haunters of the dismal streets, till the sun sunk, 
lurid and yellow, behind the hills, and Darkness closed 
around the noiseless pathway of the Pestilence. 


CHAPTER III 

THE FLOWERS AMIDST THE TOMBS 

Adrian found that the Becchino had taken care that 
famine should not forestall the plague; the banquet of 
the dead was removed, and fresh viands and wines of 
all kinds, — for there was plenty then in Florence! — 
spread the table. He partook of the refreshment, 
though but sparingly, and shrinking from repose in 
beds beneath whose gorgeous hangings Death had 
been so lately busy, carefully closed door and window. 


390 


RIENZI 


wrapped himself in his mantle, and found his resting- 
place on the cushions of the chamber in which he had 
supped. Fatigue cast him into an unquiet slumber, 
from which he was suddenly awakened by the roll of 
a cart below, and the jingle of bells. He listened, as 
the cart proceeded slowly from door to door, and at 
length its sound died away in the distance. — He slept 
no more that night ! 

The sun had not long risen ere he renewed his 
labours ; and it was yet early when, just as he' passed 
a church, two ladies richly dressed came from the 
porch, and seemed through their vizards to regard 
the young Cavalier with earnest attention. The gaze 
arrested him also, when one of the ladies said, “ Fair 
sir, you are over-bold : you wear no mask ; neither do 
you smell to flowers.” 

“ Lady, I wear no mask, for I would be seen : I 
search these miserable places for one in whose life I 
live.” 

“ He is young, comely, evidently noble, and the 
plague hath not touched him : he will serve our 
purpose well,” whispered one of the ladies to the 
other. 

“ You echo my own thoughts,” returned her com- 
panion; and then turning to Adrian, she said, “You 
seek one you are not wedded to, if you seek so 
fondly?” 

“ It is true.” 

“ Young and fair, with dark hair and neck of snow ; 
I will conduct you to her.” 

“ Signora ! ” 

“ Follow us ! ” 

“ Know you whom I am, and whom I seek ? ” 

“ Yes.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 391 

“ Can you in truth tell me aught of Irene ? ” 

" I can : follow me.” 

"To her?” 

"Yes, yes: follow us!” 

The ladies moved on as if impatient of further par- 
ley. Amazed, doubtful, and as if in a dream, Adrian 
followed them. Their dress, manner, and the pure 
Tuscan of the one who had addressed him, indicated 
them of birth and station ; but all else was a riddle 
which he could not solve. 

They arrived at one of the bridges, where a litter 
and a servant on horseback holding a palfrey by the 
bridle were in attendance. The ladies entered the lit- 
ter, and she who had before spoken bade Adrian fol- 
low on the palfrey. 

" But tell me ” he began. 

" No questions, Cavalier,” said she impatiently ; 
" follow the living in silence, or remain with the dead; 
as you list.” 

With that the litter proceeded, and Adrian mounted 
the palfrey wonderingly, and followed his strange con- 
ductors, who moved on at a tolerably brisk pace. 
They crossed the bridge, left the river on one side, 
and, soon ascending a gentle acclivity, the trees and 
flowers of the country began to succeed dull walls and 
empty streets. After proceeding thus somewhat less 
than half and hour, they turned up a green lane remote 
from the road, and came suddenly upon the porticoes 
of a fair and stately palace. Here the ladies descended 
from their litter ; and Adrian, who had vainly sought 
to extract speech from the attendant, also dismounted, 
and following them across a spacious court, filled on 
either side with vases of flowers and orange-trees, and 
then through a wide hall in the farther side of the 


392 


RIENZI 


quadrangle, found himself in one of the loveliest spots 
eye ever saw or poet ever sung. It was a garden plot 
of the most emerald verdure, bosquets of laurel and of 
myrtle opened on either side into vistas half overhung 
with clematis and rose, through whose arcades the 
prospect closed with statues and gushing fountains ; in 
front, the lawn was bounded by rows of vases on marble 
pedestals filled with flowers ! and broad and gradual 
flights of steps of the whitest marble led from terrace to 
terrace, each adorned with statues and fountains, half- 
way down a high but softly sloping and verdant hill. 
Beyond, spread in wide, various, and luxurious land- 
scape, the vineyards and olive-groves, the villas and 
villages, of the Vale of Arno, intersected by the silver 
river, while the city, in all its calm, but without its hor- 
ror, raised its roofs and spires to the sun. Birds of 
every hue and song, some free, some in network of 
golden wire, warbled round ; and upon the centre of 
the sward reclined four ladies unmasked and richly 
dressed, the eldest of whom seemed scarcely more than 
twenty ; and five cavaliers, young and handsome, 
whose jewelled vests and golden chains attested their 
degree. Wines and fruits were on a low table beside ; 
and musical instruments, chess-boards, and gammon- 
tables, lay scattered all about. So fair a group, and 
so graceful a scene, Adrian never beheld but once, 
and that was in the midst of the ghastly pestilence of 
Italy ! — such group and such scene our closet in- 
dolence may yet revive in the pages of the bright Boc- 
caccio ! 

On seeing Adrian and his companions approach, the 
party rose instantly; and one of the ladies, who wore 
upon her head a wreath of laurel-leaves, stepping be- 
fore the rest, exclaimed, “Well done, my Mariana! 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 393 

welcome back, my fair subjects. And you, sir, wel- 
come hither.” 

The two guides of the Colonna had by this time re- 
moved their masks ; and the one who had accosted 
him, shaking her long and raven ringlets over a bright, 
laughing eye and a cheek to whose native olive now 
rose a slight blush, turned to him ere he could reply 
to the welcome he had received. 

“ Signor Cavalier,” said she, “ you now see to what 
I have decoyed you. Own that this is pleasanter than 
the sights and sounds of the city we have left. You 
gaze on me in surprise. See, my Queen, how speech- 
less the marvel of your court has made our new gal- 
lant ; I assure you he could talk quickly enough when 
he had only us to confer with : nay, I was forced to 
impose silence on him.” 

“ Oh, then you have not yet informed him of the 
custom and origin of the court he enters ? ” quoth she 
of the laurel wreath. 

“ No, my Queen ; I thought all description given in 
such a spot as our poor Florence now is would fail of 
its object. My task is done, I resign him to your 
Grace ! ” 

So saying the lady tripped lightly away, and began 
coquettishly sleeking her locks in the smooth mirror 
of a marble basin, whose waters trickled over the mar- 
gin upon the grass below, ever and anon glancing 
archly towards the stranger, and sufficiently at hand 
to overhear all that was said. 

“ In the first place, Signor, permit us to inquire,” 
said the lady who bore the appellation of Queen, “ thy 
name, rank, and birth-place.” 

“ Madam,” returned Adrian, “ I came hither little 
dreaming to answer questions respecting myself ; but 


394 


RIENZI 


what it pleases you to ask, it must please me to reply 
to. My name is Adrian di Castello, one of the Roman 
house of the Colonna.” 

“ A noble column of a noble house ! ” answered the 
Queen. “ For us, respecting whom your curiosity 
may perhaps be aroused, know that we six ladies of 
Florence, deserted by or deprived of our kin and pro- 
tectors, formed the resolution to retire to this palace, 
where, if death comes, it comes stripped of half its 
horrors : and as the learned tell us that sadness en- 
genders the awful malady, so you see us sworn foes to 
sadness. Six cavaliers of our acquaintance agreed to 
join us. We pass our days, whether many or few, in 
whatever diversions we can find or invent. Music and 
the dance, merry tales and lively songs, with such 
slight change of scene as from sward to shade, from 
alley to fountain, fill up our time, and prepare us for 
peaceful sleep and happy dreams. Each lady is by 
turns Queen of our fairy court, as is my lot this day. 
One law forms the code of our constitution — that 
nothing sad shall be admitted. We would live as if 
yonder city were not, and as if ” (added the fair Queen, 
with a slight sigh) “ youth, grace, and beauty, could 
endure for ever. One of our knights madly left us 
for a day, promising to return ; we have seen him no 
more : we will not guess what hath chanced to him. It 
became necessary to fill up his place; we drew lots 
who should seek his substitute ; it fell upon the ladies 
who have — not, I trust, to your displeasure — brought 
you hither. Fair sir, my explanation is made.” 

“Alas, lovely Queen,” said Adrian, wrestling strong- 
ly, but vainly, with the bitter disappointment he felt — 
“ I cannot be one of your happy circle ; I am in my- 
self a violation of your law. I am filled with but one 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 395 

sad and anxious thought, to which all mirth would 
seem impiety. I am a seeker amongst the living and 
the dead for one being of whose fate I am uncertain ; 
and it was only by the words that fell from my fair con- 
ductor, that I have been decoyed hither from my 
mournful task. Suffer me, gracious lady, to return to 
Florence.” 

The Queen looked in mute vexation towards the 
dark-eyed Mariana, who returned the glance by one 
equally expressive, and then suddenly stepping up to 
Adrian she said, — 

“ But, Signor, if I should still keep my promise, if I 
should be able to satisfy thee of the health and safety 
of — of Irene.” 

“ Irene ! ” echoed Adrian in surprise, forgetful at the 
moment that he had before revealed the name of her 
he sought — “ Irene — Irene di Gabrini, sister of the 
once renowned Rienzi ! ” 

“ The same,” replied Mariana, quickly ; “ I knew 
her, as I told you. Nay, Signor, I do not deceive thee. 
It is true that I cannot bring thee to her ; but better as 
it is, — she went away many days ago to one of the 
towns of Lombardy, which, they say, the Pestilence 
has not yet pierced. Now, noble sir, is not your heart 
lightened ? and will you so soon be a deserter from the 
Court of Loveliness ; and perhaps,” she added, with 
a soft look from her large dark eyes, “ of Love ? ” 

“ Dare I, in truth, believe you, Lady? ” said Adrian, 
all delighted, yet still half doubting. 

“ Would I deceive a true lover, as methinks you 
are? Be assured. Nay, Queen, receive your sub- 
ject.” 

The Queen extended her hand to Adrian, and led 
him to the group that still stood on the grass at a little 


RIENZI 


39 6 

distance. They welcomed him as a brother, and soon 
forgave his abstracted courtesies, in compliment to his 
good mien and illustrious name. 

The Queen clapped her hands, and the party again 
ranged themselves on the sward. Each lady beside 
each gallant. “ You, Mariana, if not fatigued,” said 
the Queen, “ shall take the lute and silence these noisy 
grasshoppers, which chirp about us with as much pre- 
tension as if they were nightingales. Sing, sweet sub- 
jects, sing; and let it be the song our dear friend, Sig- 
nor Visdomini,* made for a kind of inaugural anthem 
to such as we admitted to our court.” 

Mariana, who had reclined herself by the side of 
Adrian, took up the lute, and, after a short prelude, 
sung the words thus imperfectly translated : — 

THE SONG OF THE FLORENTINE LADY 

Enjoy the more the smiles of noon 
If doubtful be the morrow; 

And know the Fort of Life is soon 
Betray’d to Death by Sorrow! 

Death claims us all — then, Grief, away! 

We’ll own no meaner master; 

The clouds that darken round the day 
But bring the night the faster. 

Love — feast — be merry while on earth, 

Such, Grave, should be thy moral! 

Ev’n Death himself is friends with Mirth, 

And veils the tomb with laurel. t 

* I know not if this be the same Visdomini who, three 
years afterwards, with one of the Medici, conducted so gallant 
a reinforcement to Scarperia, then besieged by Visconti 
d’Oleggio. 

t At that time, in Italy, the laurel was frequently planted 
over the dead. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 397 

While gazing on the eyes I love, 

New life to mine is given — 

If joy the lot of saints above, 

Joy fits us best for Heaven. 

To this song, which was much applauded, succeeded 
those light and witty tales in which the Italian novelists 
furnished Voltaire and Marmontel with a model — each, 
in his or her turn, taking up the discourse, and with 
an equal dexterity avoiding every lugubrious image 
or mournful reflection that might remind those grace- 
ful idlers of the vicinity of Death. At any other time 
the temper and accomplishments of the young Lord 
di Gastello would have fitted him to enjoy and to shine 
in that Arcadian court. But now he in vain sought 
to dispel the gloom from his brow, and the anxious 
thought from his heart. He revolved the intelligence 
he had received, wondered, guessed, hoped, and 
dreaded still ; and if for a moment his mind returned 
to the scene about him, his nature too truly poetical 
for the false sentiment of the place, asked itself in what, 
save the polished exterior and the graceful circum- 
stance, the mirth that he now so reluctantly witnessed 
differed from the brutal revels in the convent of Santa 
Maria — each alike in its motive, though so differing in 
the manner — equally callous and equally selfish, coin- 
ing horror into enjoyment. The fair Mariana, whose 
partner had been reft from her, as the Queen had re- 
lated, was in no mind to lose the new one she had 
gained. She pressed upon him from time to time the 
wine-flask and the fruits ; and in those unmeaning 
courtesies her hand gently lingered upon his. At 
length, the hour arrived when the companions retired 
to the Palace, during the fiercer heats of noon — to 
come forth again in the declining sun, to sup by the 


398 


RIENZI 


side of the fountain, to dance, to sing, and to make 
merry by torchlight and the stars till the hour of rest. 
But Adrian, not willing to continue the entertainment, 
no sooner found himself in the apartment to which he 
was conducted, than he resolved to effect a silent es- 
cape, as under all circumstances the shortest, and not 
perhaps the least courteous, farewell left to him. Ac- 
cordingly, when all seemed quiet and hushed in the 
repose common to the inhabitants of the South dur- 
ing that hour, he left his apartment, descended the 
stairs, passed the outer court, and was already at the 
gate, when he heard himself called by a voice that 
spoke vexation and alarm. He turned to behold 
Mariana. 

“ Why, how now, Signor di Castello, is our com- 
pany so unpleasing, is our music so jarring, or are our 
brows so wrinkled, that you should fly as the traveller 
flies from the witches he surprises at Benevento? 
Nay, you cannot mean to leave us yet? ” 

“ Fair dame/’ returned the cavalier, somewhat dis- 
concerted, “ it is in vain that I seek to rally my mourn- 
ful spirits, or to fit myself for the court to which 
nothing sad should come. Your laws hang about me 
like a culprit — better timely flight than harsh expul- 
sion.” 

As he spoke he moved on, and would have passed 
the gate, but Mariana caught his arm. 

“ Nay,” said she, softly ; “ are there no eyes of dark 
light, and no neck of wintry snow, that can compen- 
sate to thee for the absent one ? Tarry and forget, as 
doubtless in absence even thou art forgotten ! ” 

“ Lady,” answered Adrian, with great gravity, not 
unmixed with an ill-suppressed disdain, “ I have not 
sojourned long enough amidst the sights and sounds 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 399 

of woe, to blunt my heart and spirit into callousness 
to all around. Enjoy, if thou canst, and gather the 
rank roses of the sepulchre ; but to me, haunted still 
by funeral images, Beauty fails to bring delight, and 
Love — even holy love — seems darkened by the Shadow 
of Death. Pardon me, and farewell.” 

“ Go, then,” said the Florentine, stung and enraged 
at his coldness ; “ go‘ and find your mistress amidst 
the associations on which it pleases your philosophy 
to dwell. I did but deceive thee, blind fool ! as I had 
hoped for thine own good, when I told thee Irene — 
(was that her name?) — was gone from Florence. Of 
her I know nought, and heard nought, save from 
thee. Go back and search the vault, and see whether 
thou lovest her still ! ” 


CHAPTER IV 

WE OBTAIN WHAT WE SEEK AND KNOW IT NOT 

In the fiercest heat of the day, and on foot, Adrian 
returned to Florence. As he approached the city, all 
that festive and gallant scene he had quitted seemed 
to him like a dream; a vision of the gardens and 
bowers of an enchantress, from which he woke ab- 
ruptly as a criminal may wake on the morning of his 
doom to see the scaffold and the deathsman ; — so much 
did each silent and lonely step into the funeral city 
bring back his bewildered thoughts at once to life and 
to death. The parting words of Mariana sounded like 
a knell at his heart. And now as he passed on— the 
heat of the day, the lurid atmosphere, long fatigue, 
alternate exhaustion and excitement, combining with 


400 


RIENZI 


the sickness of disappointment, the fretting conscious- 
ness of precious moments irretrievably lost, and his 
utter despair of forming any systematic mode of search 
— fever began rapidly to burn through his veins. His 
temples felt oppressed as with the weight of a moun- 
tain ; his lips parched with intolerable thirst ; his 
strength seemed suddenly to desert him ; and it was 
with pain and labour that he dragged one languid limb 
after the other. 

“ I feel it,” thought he, with the loathing nausea and 
shivering dread with which nature struggles ever 
against death ; “ I feel it upon me — the Devouring 
and the Viewless — I shall perish, and without saving 
her ; nor shall even one grave contain us ! ” 

But these thoughts served rapidly to augment the 
disease which began to prey upon him; and ere he 
reached the interior of the city, even thought itself 
forsook him. The images of men and houses grew in- 
distinct and shadowy before his eyes; the burning 
pavement became unsteady and reeling beneath his 
feet ; delirium gathered over him, and he went on his 
way muttering broken and incoherent words ; the few 
who met fled from him in dismay. Even the monks, 
still continuing their solemn and sad processions, 
passed with a murmured bene vobis to the other side 
from that on which his steps swerved and faltered. 
And from a booth at the corner of a street, four Bec- 
chini, drinking together, fixed upon him from their 
black masks the gaze that vultures fix upon some 
dying wanderer of the desert. Still he crept on, 
stretching out his arms like a man in the dark, and 
seeking with the vague sense that yet struggled 
against the gathering delirium, to find out the mansion 
in which he had fixed his home ; though many as fair 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


401 


to live, and as meet to die in, stood with open portals 
before and beside his path. 

“ Irene, Irene ! ” he cried, sometimes in a muttered 
and low tone, sometimes in a wild and piercing shriek, 
“ where art thou? Where? I come to snatch thee 
from them ; they shall not have thee, the foul and ugly 
fiends ! Pah ! how the air smells of dead flesh ! Irene, 
Irene ! we will away to mine own palace and the heav- 
enly lake — Irene ! n 

While thus benighted, and thus exclaiming, two 
females suddenly emerged from a neighbouring house, 
masked and mantled. 

“ Vain wisdom ! ” said the taller and slighter of the 
two, whose mantle, it is here necessary to observe, was 
of a deep blue, richly broidered with silver, of a shape 
and a colour not common in Florence, but usual in 
Rome, where the dress of ladies of the higher rank 
was singularly bright in hue and ample in fold— thus 
differing from the simpler and more slender draperies 
of the Tuscan fashion — “ Vain wisdom, to fly a relent- 
less and certain doom ! ” 

“ Why, thou wouldst not have us hold the same 
home with three of the dead in the next chamber — 
strangers too to us— when Florence has so many empty 
halls? Trust me, we shall not walk far ere we suit 
ourselves with a safer lodgment.” 

“ Hitherto, indeed, we have been miraculously pre- 
served,” sighed the other, whose voice and shape were 
those of extreme youth ; “ yet would that we knew 
where to fly — what mount, what wood, what cavern, 
held my brother and his faithful Nina ! I am sick with 
horrors ! ” 

“ Irene, Irene ! Well then, if thou art at Milan or 
some Lombard town, why do I linger here? To horse, 
26 




402 


RIENZI 


to horse ! Oh, no ! no ! — not the horse with the bells ! 
not the death cart.” 

With a cry, a shriek, louder than the loudest of the 
sick man’s, broke that young female away from her 
companion. It seemed as if a single step took her to 
the side of Adrian. She caught his arm — she looked 
in his face — she met his unconscious eyes bright with 
a fearful fire. “ It has seized him ! ” (she then said in 
a deep but calmer tone) — “ the Plague ! ” 

“ Away, away ! are you mad ! ” cried her companion ; 
“ hence, hence, — touch me not now thou hast touched 
him — go ! — here we part ! ” 

“ Help me to bear him somewhere ; see, he faints, 
he droops, he falls ! — help me, dear Signora, for pity, 
for the love of God ! ” 

But, wholly possessed by the selfish fear which over- 
came all humanity in that miserable time, the elder 
woman, though naturally kind, pitiful, and benevolent, 
fled rapidly away, and soon vanished. Thus left alone 
with Adrian, who had now, in the fierceness of the 
fever that preyed within him, fallen on the ground, the 
strength and nerve of that young girl did not forsake 
her. She tore off the heavy mantle which encum- 
bered her arms, and cast it from her ; and then, lifting 
up the face of her lover — for who but Irene was that 
weak woman, thus shrinking not from the contagion 
of death ? — she supported him on her breast, and called 
aloud and again for help. At length the Becchini, in 
the booth before noticed, (hardened in their profession, 
and who, thus hardened, better than the most cau- 
tious, escaped the pestilence,) lazily approached — 
“ Quicker, quicker, for Christ’s love ! ” said Irene. “ I 
have much gold : I will reward you well : help me to 
bear him under the nearest roof.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 403 

“ Leave him to us, young lady : we have had our 
eye upon him,” said one of the grave-diggers. “ We’ll 
do our duty by him, first and last.” 

“ No, no ! touch not his head — that is my care. 
There, I will help you ; so, — now then, — but be 
gentle ! ” 

Assisted by these portentous officers, Irene, who 
would not release -her hold, but seemed to watch over 
the beloved eyes and lips (set and closed as they were), 
as if to look back the soul from parting, bore Adrian 
into a neighbouring house, and laid him on a bed ; 
from which Irene (preserving as only women do, in 
such times, the presence of mind and vigilant prov- 
idence which make so sublime a contrast with their 
keen susceptibilities) caused them first to cast off the 
draperies and clothing, which might retain additional 
infection. She then despatched them for new furni- 
ture, and for whatsoever leech money might yet bribe 
to a duty, now chiefly abandoned to those heroic 
Brotherhoods who, however vilified in modern judg- 
ment by the crimes of some unworthy members, were 
yet, in the dark times, the best, the bravest, and the 
holiest agents, to whom God ever delegated the power 
to resist the oppressor — to feed the hungry — to minis- 
ter to woe ; and who, alone, amidst that fiery Pes- 
tilence (loosed, as it were, a demon from the abyss, to 
shiver into atoms all that binds the world to Virtue and 
to Law), seemed to awaken, as by the sound of an 
angel’s trumpet, to that noblest Chivalry of the Cross 
— whose faith is the scorn of self — whose hope is be- 
yond the Lazar-house — whose feet, already winged for 
immortality, trample, with a conqueror’s march, upon 
the graves of Death ! 

While this the ministry and the office of love — along 


404 


RIENZI 


that street in which Adrian and Irene had met at last — 
came singing, reeling, roaring, the dissolute and 
abandoned crew who had fixed their quarters in the 
Convent of Santa Maria de’ Pazzi, their bravo chief at 
their head, and a nun (no longer in nun’s garments) 
upon either arm. “ A health to the Plague ! ” shouted 
the ruffian : “ A health to the Plague ! ” echoed his 
frantic Bacchanals. 

“ A health to the Plague, may she ever, as now, 

Loose the rogue from his chain, and the nun from her vow; 
To the gaoler a sword — to the captive a key, 

Hurrah for Earth’s Curse! ’tis a blessing to me.” 

“ Holla ! ” cried the chief, stopping ; “ here, Mar- 
gherita ; here’s a brave cloak for thee, my girl : silver 
enow on it to fill thy purse, if it ever grow empty; 
which it may, if ever the Plague grow slack.” 

“ Nay,” said the girl, who, amidst all the havoc of 
debauch, retained much of youth and beauty in her 
form and face, “ nay, Guidotto ; perhaps it has infec- 
tion.” 

“ Pooh, child, silver never infects. Clap it on, clap 
it on. Besides, fate is fate, and when it is thine hour 
there will be other means besides the gavocciolo.” 

So saying, he seized the mantle, threw it roughly 
over her shoulders, and dragged her on as before, half 
pleased with the finery, half frightened with the 
danger ; while gradually died away, along the lurid air 
and the mournful streets, the chant of that most mis- 
erable mirth. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 405 


CHAPTER V 

THE ERROR 

For three days, the fatal three days, did Adrian re- 
main bereft of strength and sense. But he was not 
smitten by the scourge which his devoted and gen- 
erous nurse had anticipated. It was a fierce and 
dangerous fever, brought on by the great fatigue, rest- 
lessness, and terrible agitation he had undergone. 

No professional mediciner could be found to attend 
him ; but a good friar, better perhaps skilled in the 
healing art than many who claimed its monopoly, vis- 
ited him daily. And in the long and frequent absences 
to which his other and numerous duties compelled 
the monk, there was one ever at hand to smooth the 
pillow, to wipe the brow, to listen to the moan, to 
watch the sleep. And even in that dismal office, when, 
in the frenzy of the sufferer, her name, coupled with 
terms of passionate endearment, broke from his lips, 
a thrill of strange pleasure crossed the heart of the be- 
trothed, which she chid as if it were a crime. But even 
the most unearthly love is selfish in the rapture of 
being loved ! Words cannot tell, heart cannot divine, 
the mingled emotions that broke over her when, in 
some of those incoherent ravings, she dimly under- 
stood that for her the city had been sought, the death 
dared, the danger incurred. And as then bending 
passionately to kiss that burning brow, her tears fell 
fast over the idol of her youth, the fountains from 
which they gushed were those, fathomless and count- 
less, which a life could not weep away. Not an im- 
pulse of the human and the woman heart that was not 


40 6 


RIENZI 


stirred ; the adoring gratitude, the meek wonder thus 
to be loved, while deeming it so simple a merit thus to 
love ; — as if all sacrifice in her were a thing of course, 
— to her, a virtue nature could not paragon, worlds 
could not repay ! And there he lay, the victim to his 
own fearless faith, helpless — dependent upon her — a 
thing between life and death, to thank, to serve — to be 
proud of, yet protect, to compassionate, yet revere — 
the saver, to be saved! Never seemed one object to 
demand at once from a single heart so many and so 
profound emotions; the romantic enthusiasm of the 
girl — the fond idolatry of the bride — the watchful prov- 
idence of the mother over her child. 

And strange to say, with all the excitement of that 
lonely watch, scarcely stirring from his side, taking 
food only that her strength might not fail her, — unable 
to close her eyes, — though, from the same cause, she 
would fain have taken rest, when slumber fell upon 
her charge — with all such wear and tear of frame and 
heart, she seemed wonderfully supported. And the 
holy man marvelled, in each visit, to see the cheek of 
the nurse still fresh, and her eye still bright. In her 
own superstition she thought and felt that Heaven 
gifted her with a preternatural power to be true to so 
sacred a charge ; and in this fancy she did not wholly 
err: — for Heaven did.giit her with that diviner power, 
when it planted in so soft a heart the enduring might 
and energy of Affection ! The friar had visited the 
sick man late on the third night, and administered 
to him a strong sedative. “ This night,” said he to 
Irene, “ will be the crisis : should he awaken as I 
trust he may, with a returning consciousness and a 
calm pulse, he will live; if not, young daughter, pre- 
pare for the worst. But should you note any turn 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 407 

in the disease, that may excite alarm, or require my 
attendance, this, scroll will inform you where I am, 
if God spare me still, at each hour of the night and 
morning.” 

The monk retired, and Irene resumed her watch. 

The sleep of Adrian was at first broken and inter- 
rupted — his features, his exclamations, his gestures, all 
evinced great agony, whether mental or bodily : it 
seemed, as perhaps it was, a fierce and doubtful strug- 
gle between life and death for the conquest of the 
sleeper. Patient, silent, breathing but by long-drawn 
gasps, Irene sate at the bed-head. The lamp was re- 
moved to the farther end of the chamber, and its ray, 
shaded by the draperies, did not suffice to give to her 
gaze more than the outline of the countenance she 
watched. In that awful suspense, all the thoughts that 
hitherto had stirred her mind lay hushed and mute. 
She was only sensible to that unutterable fear which 
few of us have been happy enough not to know. That 
crushing weight under which we can scarcely breathe 
or move, the avalanche over us, freezing and sus- 
pended, which we cannot escape from, beneath which, 
every moment, we may be buried and overwhelmed. 
The whole destiny of life was in the chances of that 
single night! It was just as Adrian at last seemed to 
glide into a deeper and serener slumber, that the bells 
of the death-cart broke with their boding knell the 
palpable silence of the streets. Now hushed, now re- 
vived, as the cart stopped for its gloomy passengers, 
and coming nearer and nearer after every pause. At 
length she heard the heavy wheels stop under the very 
casement, and a voice deep and muffled calling aloud, 
“ Bring out the dead ! ” She rose, and with a noise- 
less step, passed to secure the door, when the dull 


RIENZI 


408 

lamp gleamed upon the dark and shrouded forms of 
the Becchini. 

“ You have not marked the door, nor set out the 
body/’ said one gruffly; “but this is the third night! 
He is ready for us.” 

“ Hush, he sleeps — away, quick, it is not the Plague 
that seized him.” 

“ Not the Plague? ” growled the Becchino in a dis- 
appointed tone ; “ I thought no other illness dare en- 
croach upon the rights of the gavocciolo ! ” 

“ Go — here’s money ; leave us.” 

And the grisly carrier sullenly withdrew. The cart 
moved on, the bell renewed its summons, till slowly 
and faintly the dreadful larum died in the distance. 

Shading the lamp with her hand, Irene stole to the 
bed side, fearful that the sound and the intrusion had 
disturbed the slumberer. But his face was still locked, 
as in a vice, with that iron sleep. He stirred not — the 
breath scarcely passed his lips — she felt his pulse, as 
the wan hand lay on the coverlid- — there was a slight 
beat — she was contented — removed the light, and, re- 
tiring to a corner of the room, placed the little cross 
suspended round her neck upon the table, and prayed, 
in her intense suffering, to Him who had known death, 
and who — Son of Heaven though he was, and Sov- 
ereign of the Seraphim — had also prayed, in his earthly 
travail, that the cup might pass away. 

The Morning broke, not, as in the North, slowly 
and through shadow, but with the sudden glory with 
which in those climates Day leaps upon earth — like a 
giant from his sleep. A sudden smile — a burnished 
glow — and night had vanished. Adrian still slept ; 
not a muscle seemed to have stirred : the sleep was 
even heavier than before ; the silence became a burthen 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 409 

upon the air. Now, in that exceeding torpor so like 
unto death, the solitary watcher became alarmed and 
terrified. Time passed — morning glided to noon — 
still not a sound nor motion. The sun was midway 
in heaven — the Friar came not. And now again 
touching Adrian’s pulse, she felt no flutter — she gazed 
on him, appalled and confounded ; surely nought living 
could be so still and pale. “ Was it indeed sleep, 

might it not be ” She turned away sick and 

frozen; her tongue clove to her lips. Why did the 
father tarry? — she would go to him — she would learn 
the worst — she could forbear no longer. She glanced 
over the scroll the Monk had left her: “From sun- 
rise,” it said, “ I shall be at the Convent of the Domin- 
icans. Death has stricken many of the brethren.” 
The Convent was at some distance, but she knew the 
spot, and fear would wing her steps. She gave one 
wistful look at the sleeper and rushed from the house. 
“ I shall see thee again presently,” she murmured. 
Alas ! what hope can calculate beyond the moment ? 
And who shall claim the tenure of “ The Again f ” 

It was not many minutes after Irene had left the 
room, ere, with a long sigh, Adrian opened his eyes — 
an altered and another man ; the fever was gone, the 
reviving pulse beat low indeed, but calm. His mind 
was once more master of his body, and, though weak 
and feeble, the danger was past, and life and intellect 
regained. 

“ I have slept long,” he muttered ; “ and oh, such 
dreams! And methought I saw Irene, but could not 
speak to her, and while I attempted to grasp her, her 
face changed, her form dilated, and I was in the clutch 
of the foul grave-digger. It is late — the sun is high — 
I must be up and stirring. Irene is in Lombardy. 


4io 


RIENZI 


No, no ; that was a lie, a wicked lie ; she is at Florence, 
I must renew my search.” 

As this duty came to his remembrance, he rose from 
the bed — he was amazed at his own debility: at first 
he could not stand without support from the wall ; by 
degrees, however, he so far regained the mastery of 
his limbs as to walk, though with effort and pain. A 
ravening hunger preyed upon him, he found some 
scanty and light food in the chamber, which he de- 
voured eagerly. And with scarce less eagerness laved 
his enfeebled form and haggard face with the water 
that stood at hand. He now felt refreshed and invig- 
orated, and began to indue his garments, which he 
found thrown on a heap beside the bed. He gazed 
with surprise and a kind of self-compassion upon his 
emaciated hands and shrunken limbs, and began now 
to comprehend that he must have had some severe but 
unconscious illness. “ Alone, too,” thought he ; “ no 
one near to tend me ! Nature my only nurse ! But 
alas ! alas ! how long a time may thus have been 

wasted, and my adored Irene quick, quick, not 

a moment more will I lose.” 

He soon found himself in the open street; the air 
revived him; and that morning had sprung up the 
blessed breeze, the first known for weeks. He wan- 
dered on very slowly and feebly till he came to a broad 
square, from which, in the vista, might be seen one 
of the principal gates of Florence, and the fig-trees 
and olive-groves beyond. It was then that a Pilgrim 
of tall stature approached towards him as from the 
gate ; his hood was thrown back, and gave to view a 
countenance of great but sad command; a face, in 
whose high features, massive brow, and proud, un- 
shrinking gaze, shaded by an expression of melan- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 41 1 


choly more stern than soft, Nature seemed to have 
written majesty, and Fate disaster. As in that silent 
and dreary place, these two, the only tenants of the 
street, now encountered, Adrian stopped abruptly, and 
said in a startled and doubting voice : “ Do I dream 
still, or do I behold Rienzi ? ” 

The Pilgrim paused also, as he heard the name, and 
gazing long on the attenuated features of the young 
lord, said : “ I am he that was Rienzi ! and you, pale 
shadow, is it in this grave of Italy that I meet with 
the gay and high Colonna? Alas, young friend,” he 
added, in a more relaxed and kindly voice, “ hath the 
Plague not spared the flower of the Roman nobles? 
Come, I, the cruel and the harsh Tribune, / will be thy 
nurse : he who might have been my brother, shall yet 
claim from me a brother’s care.” 

With these words, he wound his arm tenderly round 
Adrian ; and the young noble, touched by his compas- 
sion, and agitated by the surprise, leaned upon Rienzi’s 
breast in silence. 

“ Poor youth,” resumed the Tribune, for so, since 
rather fallen than deposed, he may yet be called ; “ I 
ever loved the young, (my brother died young;) and 
you more than most. What fatality brought thee 
hither?” 

“ Irene ! ” replied Adrian, falteringly. 

“ Is it so, really? Art thou a Colonna, and yet prize 
the fallen? The same duty has brought me also to 
the city of Death. From the farthest south — over the 
mountains of the robber — through the fastnesses of 
my foes — through towns in which the herald pro- 
claimed in my ear the price of my head — I have passed 
hither, on foot and alone, safe under the wings of the 
Almighty One. Young man, thou shouldst have left 


412 


RIENZI 


this task to one who bears a wizard’s life, and whom 
Heaven and Earth yet reserve for an appointed end ! ” 

The Tribune said this in a deep and inward voice ; 
and in his raised eye and solemn brow might be seen 
how much his reverses had deepened his fanaticism, 
and added even to the sanguineness of his hopes. 

“ But,” asked Adrian, withdrawing gently from 
Rienzi’s arm, “ thou knowest, then, where Irene is 
to be found ; let us go together. Lose not a moment 
in this talk ; time is of inestimable value, and a moment 
in this city is often but the border to eternity.” 

“ Right,” said Rienzi, awakening to his object. 
“ But fear not, I have dreamt that I shall save her, the 
gem and darling of my house. Fear not, I have no 
fear.” 

“ Know you where to seek ? ” said Adrian, impa- 
tiently ; “ the Convent holds far other guests.” 

“ Ha ! so said my dream ! ” 

“ Talk not now of dreams,” said the lover ; “ but 
if you have no other guide, let us part at once in 
quest of her. I will take yonder street, you take 
the opposite, and at sunset let us meet in the same 
spot.” 

“ Rash man ! ” said the Tribune, with great solem- 
nity ; “ scoff not at the visions which Heaven makes 
a parable to its Chosen. Thou seekest counsel of thy 
human wisdom ; I, less presumptuous, follow the hand 
of the mysterious Providence, moving even now be- 
fore my gaze as a pillar of light through the wilderness 
of dread. Ay, meet me here at sunset, and prove 
whose guide is the most unerring. If my dream tell 
me true, I shall see my sister living, ere the sun reach 
yonder hill, and by a church dedicated to St. Mark.” 

The grave earnestness with which Rienzi spoke im- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 413 


pressed Adrian with a hope which his reason would 
not acknowledge. He saw him depart with that proud 
and stately step to which his sweeping garments gave 
a yet more imposing dignity, and then passed up the 
street to the right hand. He had not got half-way 
when he felt himself pulled by the mantle. He turned, 
and saw the shapeless mask of a Becchino. 

“ I feared you were sped, and that another had 
cheated me of my office,” said the grave-digger, “ see- 
ing that you returned not to the old Prince's palace. 
You don’t know me from the rest of us I see, but I 
am the one you told to seek ” 

“ Irene ! ” 

“Yes, Irene di Gabrini; you promised ample re- 
ward.” 

“ You shall have it.” 

“ Follow me.” 

The Becchino strode on, and soon arrived at a man- 
sion. He knocked twice at the porter’s entrance, an 
old woman cautiously opened the door. “ Fear not, 
good aunt,” said the grave-digger ; “ this is the young 
Lord I spoke to thee of. Thou sayest thou hadst two 
ladies in the palace, who alone survived of all the 
lodgers, and their names were Bianca de Medici, and 
— what was the other ? ” 

“ Irene di Gabrini, a Roman lady. But I told thee 
this was the fourth day they left the house, terrified by 
the deaths within it.” 

“ Thou didst so : and was there anything remarkable 
in the dress of the Signora di Gabrini ? ” 

“ Yes, I have told thee : a blue mantle, such as I 
have rarely seen, wrought with silver.” 

“ Was the broidery that of stars, silver stars,” ex- 
claimed Adrian, “ with a sun in the centre ? ” 


4H 


RIENZI 


“ It was.” 

“ Alas ! alas ! the arms of the Tribune’s family ! I re- 
member how I praised the mantle the first day she 
wore it — the day on which we were betrothed ! ” And 
the lover at once conjectured the secret sentiment 
which had induced Irene to retain thus carefully a robe 
so endeared by association. 

“ You know no more of your lodgers ? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ And is this all you have learned, knave ? ” cried 
Adrian. 

“ Patience. I must bring you from proof to proof, 
and link to link, in order to win my reward. Follow, 
Signor.” 

The Becchino then passing through the several 
lanes and streets, arrived at another house of less mag- 
nificent size and architecture. Again he tapped thrice 
at the parlour door, and this time came forth a man 
withered, old, and palsied, whom death seemed to dis- 
dain to strike. 

“ Signor Astuccio,” said the Becchino, “ pardon me ; 
but I told thee I might trouble thee again. This is 
the gentleman who wants to know, what is often best 
unknown — but that’s not my affair. Did a lady — 
young and beautiful — with dark hair, and of a slender 
form, enter this house, stricken with the first symptom 
of the Plague, three days since ? ” 

“ Ay, thou knowest that well enough ; and thou 
knowest still better, that she has departed these two 
days : it was quick work with her, quicker than with 
most ! ” 

“ Did she wear anything remarkable ? ” 

“ Yes, troublesome man : a blue cloak, with stars 
of silver.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 415 

“ Couldst thou guess aught of her previous circum- 
stances ? ” 

“ No, save that she raved much about the nunnery 
of Santa Maria de’ Pazzi, and bravos, and sacrilege.” 

“ Are you satisfied, Signor ? ” asked the grave-dig- 
ger, with an air of triumph, turning to Adrian. “ But 
no, I will satisfy thee better, if thou hast courage. 
Wilt thou follow? ” 

“ I comprehend thee ; lead on. Courage ! What is 
there on earth now to fear? ” 

Muttering to himself, “ Ay, leave me alone. I have 
a head worth something ; I ask no gentleman to go by 
my word ; I will make his own eyes the judge of what 
my trouble is worth,” the grave-digger now led the 
way through one of the gates a little out of the city. 
And here, under a shed, sat six of his ghastly and ill- 
omened brethren, with spades and pickaxes at their 
feet. 

His guide now turned round to Adrian, whose face 
was set, and resolute in despair. 

“ Fair Signor,” said he, with some touch of linger- 
ing compassion, “ wouldst thou really convince thine 
own eyes and heart ? — the sight may appal, the conta- 
gion may destroy, thee, — if, indeed, as it seems to me, 
Death has not already written ‘ mine ’ upon thee.” 

“ Raven of bode and woe ! ” answered Adrian, 
“ seest thou not that all I shrink from is thy voice and 
aspect? Show me her I seek, living or dead.” 

“ I will show her to you, then,” said the Becchino, 
sullenly, “ such as two nights since she was committed 
to my charge. Line and lineament may already be 
swept away, for the Plague hath a rapid besom : but I 
have left that upon her by which you will know the 
Becchino is no liar. Bring hither the torches, com- 


RIENZI 


416 

rades, and lift the door. Never stare ; it’s the gentle- 
man’s whim, and he’ll pay it well.” 

Turning to the right, while Adrian mechanically fol- 
lowed his conductors, a spectacle whose dire philoso- 
phy crushes as with a wheel all the pride of mortal 
man — the spectacle of that vault in which earth hides 
all that on earth flourished, rejoiced, exulted — awaited 
his eye ! 

The Becchini lifted a ponderous grate, lowered their 
torches (scarcely needed, for through the aperture 
rushed, with a hideous glare, the light of the burning 
sun,) and motioned to Adrian to advance. He stood 
upon the summit of the abyss and gazed below. 

* sfs >jt 5|S 5)« 

s(s sfc sj: sjt sK 

It was a large deep and circular space, like the bot- 

tom of an exhausted well. In niches cut into the walls 
of earth around, lay, duly cofflned, those who had been 
the earliest victims of the plague, when the Becchino’s 
market was not yet glutted, and priest followed, and 
friend mourned the dead. But on the floor below, 
there was the loathsome horror ! Huddled and matted 
together — some naked, some in shrouds already black 
and rotten — lay the later guests, the unshriven and 
unblest! The torches, the sun, streamed broad and 
red over Corruption in all its stages, from the pale blue 
tint and swollen shape, to the moistened undistinguish- 
able mass, or the riddled bones, where yet clung, in 
strips and tatters, the black and mangled flesh. In 
many, the face remained almost perfect, while the rest 
of the body was but bone : the long hair, the human 
face, surmounting the grisly skeleton. There was the 
infant, still on the mother’s breast ; there was the lover, 
stretched across the dainty limbs of his adored ! The 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 417 

rats, (for they clustered in numbers to that feast,) dis- 
turbed, not scared, sate up from their horrid meal as 
the light glimmered over them, and thousands of them 
lay round, stark, and dead, poisoned by what they 
fed on ! There, too, the wild satire of the grave-dig- 
gers had cast, though stripped of their gold and jewels, 
the emblems that spoke of departed rank ; — the broken 
wand of the Councillor ; the General’s baton ; the 
Priestly Mitre ! The foul and livid exhalations gath- 
ered like flesh itself, fungous and putrid, upon the 
walls, and the* 

***** 

***** 

But who shall detail the ineffable and unimaginable 
horrors that reigned over the Palace where the Great 
King received the prisoners whom the sword of the 
Pestilence had subdued? 

But through all that crowded court — crowded with 
beauty and with birth, with the strength of the young 
and the honours of the old, and the valour of the brave, 
and the wisdom of the learned, and the wit of the 
scorner, and the piety of the faithful — one only figure 
attracted Adrian’s eye. Apart from the rest, a late 
comer — the long locks streaming far and dark over 
arm and breast — lay a female, the face turned partially 
aside, the little seen not recognisable even by the 
mother of the dead, — but wrapped round in that fatal 
mantle, on which, though blackened and tarnished, 
was yet visible the starry heraldry assumed by those 
who claimed the name of the proud Tribune of Rome. 
Adrian saw no more — he fell back in the arms of the 

* The description in the text is borrowed from the famous 
waxwork model [of the interior of the Charnel-house] at 
Florence. 

27 


418 


RIENZI 


grave-diggers : when he recovered, he was still with- 
out the gates of Florence — reclined upon a green 
mound — his guide stood beside him — holding his steed 
by the bridle as it grazed patiently on the neglected 
grass. The other brethren of the axe had resumed 
their seat under the shed. 

“ So, you have revived ! Ah ! I thought it was only 
the effluvia; few stand it as we do. And so, as your 
search is over, deeming you would now be quitting 
Florence if you have any sense left to you, I went for 
your good horse. I have fed him since your departure 
from the palace. Indeed I fancied he would be my 
perquisite, but there are plenty as good. Come, young 
sir, mount. I feel a pity for you, I know not why, ex- 
cept that you are the only one I have met for weeks 
who seems to care for another more than for yourself. 
I hope you are satisfied now that I showed some 
brains, eh ! in your service : and as I have kept my 
promise, you’ll keep yours.” 

“ Friend,” said Adrian, “ here is gold enough to 
make thee rich ; here, too, is a jewel that merchants 
will tell thee princes might vie to purchase. Thou 
seemest honest, despite thy calling, or thou mightest 
have robbed and murdered me long since. Do me 
one favour more.” 

“ By my poor mother’s soul, yes.” 

“ Take yon — yon clay from that fearful place. Inter 
it in some quiet and remote spot — apart — alone ! You 
promise me? — you swear it? — it is well! And now 
help me on my horse. Farewell Italy, and if I die 
not with this stroke, may I die as befits at once honour 
and despair — with trumpet and banner round me — in 
a well-fought field against a worthy foe ! — Save a 
knightly death, nothing is left to live for 1 ” 


BOOK VII 

THE PRISON 


“ Fu rinchiuso in una torre grossa e larga; avea libri assai, 
suo Tito Livio, sue storie di Roma, la Bibbia, &c. — Vit. di 
Cola di Rienzi , lib. ii. c. 13. 

“ He was immured in a high and spacious tower; he had 
books enough, his Titus Livius, his histories of Rome, the 
Bible,” &c. 


CHAPTER I 

AVIGNON. — THE TWO PAGES. — THE STRANGER BEAUTY 

There is this difference between the Drama of 
Shakspeare, and that of almost every other master 
of the same art; that in the first, the catastrophe is 
rarely produced by one single cause — one simple and 
continuous chain of events. Various and complicated 
agencies work out the final end. Unfettered by the 
rules of time and place, each time, each place depicted, 
presents us with its appropriate change of action, or of 
actors. Sometimes the interest seems to halt, to turn 
aside, to bring us unawares upon objects hitherto un- 
noticed, or upon qualities of the characters hitherto 
hinted at, not developed. But, in reality, the pause 
in the action is but to collect, to gather up, and to 
grasp, all the varieties of circumstance that conduce 
to the Great Result : and the art of fiction is only de- 
serted for the fidelity of history. Whoever seeks to 
place before the world the true representation of a 

419 


420 


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man’s life and times, and enlarging the Dramatic into 
the Epic, extends his narrative over the vicissitudes of 
years, will find himself unconsciously, in this, the im- 
itator of Shakspeare. New characters, each condu- 
cive to the end — new scenes, each leading to the last, 
rises before him as he proceeds, sometimes seeming to 
the reader to delay, even while they advance, the dread 
catastrophe. The sacrificial procession sweeps along, 
swelled by new comers, losing many that first joined 
it ; before, at last, the same as a whole, but differing 
in its components, the crowd reach the fated bourn of 
the Altar and the Victim ! 

It is five years after the date of the events I have 
recorded, and my story conveys us to the Papal Court 
at Avignon — that tranquil seat of power, to which the 
successors of St. Peter had transplanted the luxury, 
the pomp, and the vices, of the Imperial City. Secure 
from the fraud or violence of a powerful and barbarous 
nobility, the courtiers of the See surrendered them- 
selves to a holyday of delight — their repose was de- 
voted to enjoyment, and Avignon presented, at that 
day, perhaps the gayest and most voluptuous society 
of Europe. The elegance of Clement VI. had diffused 
an air of literary refinement over the grosser pleasures 
of the place, and the spirit of Petrarch still continued 
to work its way through the councils of faction and 
the orgies of debauch. 

Innocent VI. had lately succeeded Clement, and 
whatever his own claims to learning,* he, at least, ap- 
preciated knowledge and intellect in others ; so that 

* Matteo Villani (lib. iii. cap. 44) says that Innocent VI. 
had not much pretension to learning. He is reported, how- 
ever, by other authorities, cited by Zefirino Re, to have been 
“ eccellente canonista.” He had been a professor in the Uni- 
versity of Toulouse. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 421 

the graceful pedantry of the time continued to mix 
itself with the pursuit of pleasure. The corruption 
which reigned through the whole place was too con- 
firmed to yield to the example of Innocent, himself 
a man of simple habits and exemplary life. Though, 
like his predecessor, obedient to the policy of France, 
Innocent possessed a hard and an extended ambition. 
Deeply concerned for the interests of the Church, he 
formed the project of confirming and re-establishing 
her shaken dominion in Italy ; and he regarded the 
tyrants of the various states as the principal obsta- 
cles to his ecclesiastical ambition. Nor was this the 
policy of Innocent VI. alone. With such exceptions 
as peculiar circumstances necessarily occasioned, the 
Papal See was, upon the whole, friendly to the polit- 
ical liberties of Italy. The Republics of the Middle 
Ages grew up under the shadow of the Church ; and 
there, as elsewhere, it was found, contrary to a vulgar 
opinion, that Religion, however prostituted and per- 
verted, served for the general protection of civil free- 
dom, — raised the lowly, and resisted the oppressor. 

At this period there appeared at Avignon a lady of 
singular and matchless beauty. She had come with a 
slender but well-appointed retinue from Florence, but 
declared herself of Neapolitan birth ; the widow of a 
noble of the brilliant court of the unfortunate Jane. 
Her name was Cesarini. Arrived at a place where, 
even in the citadel of Christianity, Venus retained her 
ancient empire, where Love made the prime business 
of life, and to be beautiful was to be of power; the 
Signora Cesarini had scarcely appeared in public be- 
fore she saw at her feet half the rank and gallantry 
of Avignon. Her female attendants were beset with 
bribes and billets ; and nightly, beneath her lattice, was 


422 


RIENZI 


heard the plaintive serenade. She entered largely into 
the gay dissipation of the town, and her charms shared 
the celebrity of the hour with the verse of Petrarch. 
But though she frowned on none, none could claim 
the monopoly of her smiles. Her fair fame was as 
yet unblemished ; but if any might presume beyond 
the rest, she seemed to have selected rather from am- 
bition than love, and Giles, the warlike Cardinal 
d’Albornoz, all powerful at the sacred court, already 
foreboded the hour of his triumph. 

It was late noon, and in the ante-chamber of the 
fair Signora waited two of that fraternity of pages, fair 
and richly clad, who, at that day, furnished the 
favourite attendants to rank of either sex. 

“ By my troth/’ cried one of these young servitors, 
pushing from him the dice with which himself and his 
companion had sought to beguile their leisure, “ this is 
but dull work ! and the best part of the day is gone. 
Our lady is late.” 

“ And I have donned my new velvet mantle,” re- 
plied the other, compassionately eyeing his finery. 

“ Chut, Giacomo,” said his comrade, yawning ; “ a 
truce with thy conceit. — What news abroad, I wonder ? 
Has his Holiness come to his senses yet? ” 

“ His senses ; what, is he mad then ? ” quoth Giaco- 
mo, in a serious and astonished whisper. 

“ I think he is ; if, being Pope, he does not discover 
that he may at length lay aside mask and hood. 
‘ Continent Cardinal — lewd Pope/ is the old motto, 
you know; something must be the matter with the 
good man’s brain if he continue to live like a her- 
mit.” 

“ Oh, I have you ! but faith, his Holiness has prox- 
ies eno’. The bishops take care to prevent women, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 423 

Heaven bless them! going out of fashion; and Al- 
bornoz does not maintain your proverb, touching the 
Cardinals.” 

“ True, but Giles is a warrior, — a cardinal in the 
church, but a soldier in the city.” 

“ Will he carry the fort here, think you, Angelo ? ” 

“ Why, fort is female, but ” 

“ But what?” 

“ The Signora’s brow is made for power, rather than 
love, fair as it is. She sees in Albornoz the prince, 
and not the lover. With what a step she sweeps the 
floor ! it disdains even the cloth of gold ! ” 

“ Hark ! ” cried Giacomo, hastening to the lattice, 
“ hear you the hoofs below ? Ah, a gallant com- 
pany ! ” 

“ Returned from hawking,” answered Angelo, re- 
garding wistfully the cavalcade, as it swept the narrow 
street. “ Plumes waving, steeds curvetting— see how 
yon handsome cavalier presses close to that dame ! ” 

“ His mantle is the colour of mine,” sighed Gia- 
como. 

As the gay procession paced slowly on, till hidden 
by the winding street, and as the sound of laughter 
and the tramp of horses was yet faintly heard, there 
frowned right before the straining gaze of the pages, 
a dark massive tower of the mighty masonry of the 
eleventh century : the sun gleamed sadly on its vast 
and dismal surface, which was only here and there 
relieved by loopholes and narrow slits, rather than 
casements. It was a striking contrast to the gaiety 
around, the glittering shops, and the gaudy train that 
had just filled the space below. This contrast the 
young men seemed involuntarily to feel ; they drew 
back, and looked at each other. 


424 


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“ I know your thoughts, Giacomo,” said Angelo, the 
handsomer and elder of the two. “ You think yon 
tower affords but a gloomy lodgment ? ” 

“ And I thank my stars that made me not high 
enough to require so grand a cage,” rejoined Gia- 
como. 

“Yet,” observed Angelo, “it holds one, who in 
birth was not our superior.” 

“ Do tell me something of that strange man,” said 
Giacomo, regaining his seat ; “ you are Roman and 
should know.” 

“ Yes!” answered Angelo, haughtily drawing him- 
self up. “ I am Roman ! and I should be unworthy 
my birth, if I had not already learned what honour 
is due to the name of Cola di Rienzi.” 

“ Yet your fellow-Romans nearly stoned him, I 
fancy,” muttered Giacomo. “ Honour seems to lie 
more in kicks than money. Can you tell me,” con- 
tinued the page in a louder key, “ can you tell me if 
it be true, that Rienzi appeared at Prague before the 
Emperor, and prophesied that the late Pope and all 
the Cardinals should be murdered, and a new Italian 
Pope elected, who should endue the Emperor with a 
golden crown, as Sovereign of Sicilia, Calabria, and 
Apulia,* and himself with a crown of silver, as King 
of Rome, and all Italy? And ” 

“ Hush ! ” interrupted Angelo, impatiently. “ Listen 
to me, and you shall know the exact story. On last 
leaving Rome (thou knowest that, after his fall, he was 

present at the Jubilee in disguise) the Tribune ” 

here Angelo, pausing, looked round, and then with 
a flushed cheek and raised voice resumed, “ Yes, the 


* An absurd fable, adopted by certain historians. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 425 


Tribune , that zvcis and shall be — travelled in disguise, 
as a pilgrim, over mountain and forest, night and day, 
exposed to rain and storm, no shelter but the cave, — 
he who had been, they say, the very spoilt one of Lux- 
ury. Arrived at length in Bohemia, he disclosed him- 
self to a Florentine in Prague, and through his aid 
obtained audience of the Emperor Charles.” 

“ A prudent man, the Emperor ! ” said Giacomo, 
» “ close-fisted as a miser. He makes conquests by 

bargain, and goes to market for laurels, — as I have 
heard my brother say, who was under him.” 

“True; but I have also heard that he likes book- 
men and scholars — is wise and temperate, and much is 
yet hoped from him in Italy ! Before the Emperor, I 
say, came Rienzi. ‘ Know, great Prince,’ said he, 
‘ that I am that Rienzi to whom God gave to govern 
Rome, in peace, with justice, and to freedom. I 
curbed the nobles, I purged corruption, I amended 
law. The powerful persecuted me — pride and envy 
have chased me from my dominions. Great as you 
are, fallen as I am, I too have wielded the sceptre and 
might have worn a crown. Know, too, that I am 
illegitimately of your lineage ; my father the son of 
Henry VII.;* the blood of the Teuton rolls in my 
veins ; mean as were my earlier fortunes and humble 
my earlier name ! From you, O king, I seek protec- 
tion, and I demand justice.” f 

“ A bold speech, and one from equal to equal,” said 
Giacomo ; “ surely you swell us out the words.” 

“ Not a whit; they were written down by the Em- 
peror’s scribe, and every Roman who has once heard 

* Uncle to the Emperor Charles. 

t See, for this speech, “ The Anonymous Biographer,” lib. 
ii. cap. 12. 


RIENZI 


426 

knows them by heart : once every Roman was the 
equal to a king, and Rienzi maintained our dignity in 
asserting his own.” 

Giacomo, who discreetly avoided quarrels, knew the 
weak side of his friend; and though in his heart he 
thought the Romans as good-for-nothing a set of 
turbulent dastards as all Italy might furnish, he merely 
picked a straw from his mantle, and said, in rather an 
impatient tone, “ Humph ! proceed ! did the Emperor 
dismiss him ? ” 

“ Not so : Charles was struck with his bearing and 
his spirit, received him graciously, and entertained him 
hospitably. He remained some time at Prague, and 
astonished all the learned with his knowledge and 
eloquence.” * 

“ But if so honoured at Prague, how comes he a 
prisoner at Avignon ? ” 

“ Giacomo,” said Angelo, thoughtfully, “ there are 
some men whom we, of another mind and mould, can 
rarely comprehend, and never fathom. And of such 
men I have observed that a supreme confidence in 
their own fortunes or their own souls, is the most com- 
mon feature. Thus impressed, and thus buoyed, they 
rush into danger with a seeming madness, and from 
danger soar to greatness, or sink to death. So with 
Rienzi; dissatisfied with empty courtesies and weary 
of playing the pedant, since once he had played the 
prince ; — some say of his own accord, (though others 

* His Italian contemporary delights in representing this 
remarkable man as another Crichton. “ Disputava,” he says 
of him when at Prague, “ disputava con Mastri di teologia; 
molto diceva, parlava cose meravigliose .... abbair fea ogni 
persona/' — “ He disputed with Masters of theology — he 
spoke much, he discoursed things wonderful — he astonished 
every one.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 427 

relate that he was surrendered to the Pope’s legate 
by Charles,) he left the Emperor’s court, and without 
arms, without money, betook himself at once to Avig- 
non ! ” 

“ Madness indeed ! ” 

“ Yet, perhaps, his only course, under all circum- 
stances,” resumed the elder page. “ Once before his 
fall, and once during his absence from Rome, he had 
been excommunicated by the Pope’s legate. He was 
accused of heresy — the ban was still on him. It was 
necessary that he should clear himself. How was the 
poor exile to do so? No powerful friend stood up 
for the friend of the people. No courtier vindicated 
one who had trampled on the neck of the nobles. His 
own genius was his only friend ; on that only could he 
rely. He sought Avignon, to free himself from the 
accusations against him ; and, doubtless, he hoped that 
there was but one step from his acquittal to his restora- 
tion. Besides, it is certain that the Emperor had been 
applied to, formally to surrender Rienzi. He had the 
choice before him ; for to that sooner or later it must 
come — to go free, or to go in bonds — as a criminal, 
or as a Roman. He chose the latter. Wherever he 
passed along, the people rose in every town, in every 
hamlet. The name of the great Tribune was hon- 
oured throughout all Italy. They besought him not 
to rush into the very den of peril — they implored him 
to save himself for that country which he had sought 
to raise. ‘ I go to vindicate myself, and to triumph,’ 
was the Tribune’s answer. Solemn honours were paid 
him in the cities through which he passed;* and I 
am told that never ambassador, prince, or baron, en- 

* “ Per tutto la via li furo fatti solenni onori,” &c. — Vit. di 
Col. di Rienzi, lib. ii. cap. 13. 


428 


RIENZI 


tered Avignon with so long a train as that which 
followed into these very walls the steps of Cola di 
Rienzi.” 

“ And on his arrival ? ” 

“ He demanded an audience, that he might refute 
the charges against him. He flung down the gage 
to the proud cardinals who had excommunicated him. 
He besought a trial.” 

“ And what said the Pope ? ” 

“ Nothing — by word. Yon tower was his answer ! ” 

“ A rough one ! ” 

“ But there have been longer roads than that from 
the prison to the palace, and God made not men like 
Rienzi for the dungeon and the chain.” 

As Angelo said this with a loud voice, and with all 
the enthusiasm with which the fame of the fallen Trib- 
une had inspired the youth of Rome, he heard a sigh 
behind him. He turned in some confusion, and at the 
door which admitted to the chamber occupied by the 
Signora Cesarini, stood a female of noble presence. 
Attired in the richest garments, gold and gems were 
dull to the lustre of her dark eyes, and as she now 
stood, erect and commanding, never seemed brow more 
made for the regal crown — never did human beauty 
more fully consummate the ideal of a heroine and a 
queen. 

“ Pardon me, Signora,” said Angelo, hesitatingly ; 
“ I spoke loud, I disturbed you ; but I am Roman, and 
my theme was ” 

“ Rienzi ! ” said the lady, approaching ; “ a fit one 
to stir a Roman heart. Nay — no excuses : they would 
sound ill on thy generous lips. Ah, if — ” the Signora 
paused suddenly, and sighed again ; then in an altered 
and graver tone she resumed — “ if fate restore Rienzi 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 429 

to his proper fortunes, he shall know what thou deem- 
est of him.” 

“ If you, lady, who are of Naples,” said Angelo, 
with meaning emphasis, “ speak thus of a fallen exile, 
what must I have felt who acknowledged a sover- 
eign ? ” 

“ Rienzi is not of Rome alone — he is of Italy — of 
the world,” returned the Signora. “And you, An- 
gelo, who have had the boldness to speak thus of one 
fallen, have proved with what loyalty you can serve 
those who have the fortune to own you.” 

As she spoke, the Signora looked at the page’s 
downcast and blushing face long and wistfully, with 
the gaze of one accustomed to read the soul in the 
countenance. 

“ Men are often deceived,” said she, sadly, yet with 
a half smile ; “ but women rarely, — save in love. 
Would that Rome were filled with such as you ! 
Enough ! Hark ! Is that the sound of hoofs in the 
court below ? ” 

“ Madam,” said Giacomo, bringing his mantle gal- 
lantly over his shoulder, “ I see the servitors of Mon- 
signore the Cardinal d’Albornoz. — It is the Cardinal 
himself.” 

“ It is well ! ” said the Signora, with a brightening 
eye ; “ I await him ! ” With these words she with- 
drew by the door through which she had surprised 
the Roman page. 


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CHAPTER II 

THE CHARACTER OF A WARRIOR-PRIEST — AN INTER- 
VIEW THE INTRIGUE AND COUNTER-INTRIGUE OF 

COURTS 

Giles, (or Egidio,*) Cardinal d’Albornoz, was one 
of the remarkable men of that remarkable time, so 
prodigal of genius. Boasting his descent from the 
royal houses of Aragon and Leon, he had early en- 
tered the church, and yet almost a youth, attained the 
archbishopric of Toledo. But no peaceful career, 
however brilliant, sufficed to his ambition. He could 
not content himself with the honours of the Church, 
unless they were the honours of a church militant. 
In the war against the Moors, no Spaniard had more 
highly distinguished himself ; and Alphonso XI., king 
of Castile, had insisted on receiving from the hand 
of the martial priest the badge of knighthood. After 
the death of Alphonso, who was strongly attached to 
him, Albornoz repaired to Avignon, and obtained from 
Clement VI. the cardinal’s hat. With Innocent he 
continued in high favour, and now, constantly in the 
councils of the Pope, rumours of warlike preparation, 
under the banners of Albornoz, for the recovery of the 
papal dominions from the various tyrants that usurped 
them, were already circulated through the court, f 

* Egidio is the proper Italian equivalent to the French 
name Gilles, — but the Cardinal is generally called, by the 
writers of that day, Gilio d’Albornoz. 

t It is a characteristic anecdote of this bold Churchman, 
that Urban V. one day demanded an account of the sums 
spent in his military expedition against the Italian tyrants. 
The Cardinal presented to the Pope a waggon, filled with 
the keys of the cities and fortresses he had taken. “ This is 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 431 

Bold, sagacious, enterprising, and cold-hearted, — with 
the valour of the knight, and the cunning of the priest, 
— such was the character of Giles, Cardinal d’Albor- 
noz. 

Leaving his attendant gentlemen in the ante-cham- 
ber, Albornoz was ushered into the apartment of the 
Signora Cesarini. In person, the Cardinal was about 
the middle height; the dark complexion of Spain had 
faded by thought, and the wear of ambitious schemes, 
into a sallow but hardy hue ; his brow was deeply 
furrowed, and though not yet past the prime of life, 
Albornoz might seem to have entered age, but for the 
firmness of his step, the slender elasticity of his frame, 
and an eye which had acquired calmness and depth 
from thought, without losing any of the brilliancy of 
youth. 

“ Beautiful Signora,” said the Cardinal, bending 
over the hand of the Cesarini with a grace which be- 
tokened more of the prince than of the priest ; “ the 
commands of his Holiness have detained me, I fear, 
beyond the hour in which you vouchsafed to appoint 
my homage, but my heart has been with you since 
we parted.” 

“ The Cardinal d’ Albornoz,” replied the Signora, 
gently withdrawing her hand, and seating herself, 
“ has so many demands on his time, from the duties 
of his rank and renown, that methinks to divert his 
attention for a few moments to less noble thoughts is 
a kind of treason to his fame.” 

“ Ah, Lady,” replied the Cardinal, “ never was my 
ambition so nobly directed as it is now. And it were 

my account/’ said he; “you perceive how I have invested 
your money.” The Pope embraced him, and gave him no 
further trouble about his accounts. 


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a prouder lot to be at thy feet than on the throne of 
St. Peter.” 

A momentary blush passed over the cheek of 
the Signora, yet it seemed the blush of indigna- 
tion as much as of vanity ; it was succeeded by 
an extreme paleness. She paused before she re- 
plied ; and then fixing her large and haughty eyes 
on the enamoured Spaniard, she said, in a low 
voice, 

“ My Lord Cardinal, I do not affect to misunder- 
stand your words; neither do I place them to the ac- 
count of a general gallantry. I am vain enough to be- 
lieve you imagine you speak truly when you say you 
love me.” 

“ Imagine ! ” echoed the Spaniard. 

“ Listen to me,” continued the Signora. “ She 
whom the Cardinal Albornoz honours with his love 
has a right to demand of him its proofs. In the papal 
court, whose power like his? — I require you to exer- 
cise it for me.” 

“ Speak, dearest Lady ; have your estates been 
seized by the barbarians of these lawless times? Hath 
any dared to injure you? Lands and titles, are these 
thy wish? — my power is thy slave.” 

“ Cardinal, no ! there is one thing dearer to an 
Italian and a woman than wealth or station — it is re- 
venge ! ” 

The Cardinal drew back from the flashing eye that 
was bent upon him, but the spirit of her speech 
touched a congenial chord. 

“ There,” said he, after a little hesitation, “ there 
spake high descent. Revenge is the luxury of the 
well-born. Let serfs and churls forgive an injury. 
Proceed, Lady.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 433 

“ Hast thou heard the last news from Rome ? ” 
asked the Signora. 

“ Surely/’ replied the Cardinal, in some surprise, 
“ we were poor statesmen to be ignorant of the condi- 
tion of the capital of the papal dominions ; and my 
heart mourns for that unfortunate city. But where- 
fore wouldst thou question me of Rome ? — thou art — ” 

“ Roman ! Know, my Lord, that I have a purpose 
in calling myself of Naples. To your discretion I in- 
trust my secret — I am of Rome ! Tell me of her 
state.” 

“ Fairest one,” returned the Cardinal, “ I should 
have known that that brow and presence were not of 
the light Campania. My reason should have told me 
that they bore the stamp of the Empress of the World. 
The state of Rome,” continued Albornoz, in a graver 
tone, “ is briefly told. Thou knowest that after the 
fall of the able but insolent Rienzi, Pepin, count of 
Minorbino, (a creature of Montreal’s,) who had as- 
sisted in expelling him, would have betrayed Rome 
to Montreal, — but he was neither strong enough nor 
wise enough, and the Barons chased him as he had 
chased the Tribune. Some time afterwards a new 
demagogue, John Cerroni, was installed in the Capitol. 
He once more expelled the nobles ; new revolutions 
ensued — the Barons were recalled. The weak suc- 
cessor of Rienzi summoned the people to arms — in 
vain : in terror and despair he abdicated his power, and 
left the city a prey to the interminable feuds of the 
Orsini, the Colonna, and the Savelli.” 

“ Thus much I know, my Lord ; but when his Holi- 
ness succeeded to the chair of Clement VI. ” 

“ Then,” said Albornoz, and a slight frown dark- 
ened his sallow brow, “ then came the blacker part of 
28 


434 


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the history. Two senators were elected in concert by 
the Pope.” 

“ Their names? ” 

“ Bertoldo Orsini, and one of the Colonna. A few 
weeks afterwards, the high price of provisions stung 
the rascal stomachs of the mob — they rose, they clam- 
oured, they armed, they besieged the Capitol ” 

“ Well, well,” cried the Signora, clasping her hands, 
and betokening in every feature her interest in the 
narration. 

“ Colonna only escaped death by a vile disguise ; 
Bertoldo Orsini was stoned.” 

“ Stoned ! — there fell one ! ” 

“ Yes, Lady, one of a great house ; the least drop 
of whose blood were worth an ocean of plebeian pud- 
dle. At present, all is disorder, misrule, anarchy at 
Rome. The contests of the nobles shake the city to 
the centre ; and prince and people, wearied of so many 
experiments to establish a government, have now no 
governor but the fear of the sword. Such, fair madam, 
is the state of Rome. Sigh not, it occupies now our 
care. It shall be remedied ; and I, madam, may be 
the happy instrument of restoring peace to your native 
city.” 

“ There is but one way of restoring peace to Rome,” 
answered the Signora, abruptly, “ and that is — The 
restoration of Rienzi ! ” 

The Cardinal started. “ Madam,” said he, “ do I 
hear aright? — are you not nobly born? — can you de- 
sire the rise of a plebeian? Did you not speak of re- 
venge, and now you ask for mercy ? ” 

“ Lord Cardinal,” said the beautiful Signora, ear- 
nestly, “ I do not ask for mercy : such a word is not 
for the lips of one who demands justice. Nobly born 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 435 

I am — ay, and from a stock to whose long descent 
from the patricians of ancient Rome the high line of 
Aragon itself would be of yesterday. Nay, I would 
not offend you, Monsignore ; your greatness is not bor- 
rowed from pedigrees and tombstones — your great- 
ness is your own achieving : would you speak honestly, 
my lord, you would own that you are proud only* of 
your own laurels, and that, in your heart, you laugh at 
the stately fools who trick themselves out in the 
mouldering finery of the dead ! ” 

“Muse! prophetess! you speak aright,” said the 
high-spirited Cardinal, with unwonted energy; “and 
your voice is like that of the Fame I dreamed of in my 
youth. Speak on, speak ever ! ” 

“ Such,” continued the Signora, “ such as your 
pride, is the just pride of Rienzi. Proud that he is 
the workman of his own great renown. In such as 
the Tribune of Rome we acknowledge the founders 
of noble lineage. Ancestry makes not them — they 
make ancestry. Enough of this. I am of noble race, 
it is true ; but my house, and those of many, have been 
crushed and broken beneath the yoke of the Orsini 
and Colonna — it is against them I desire revenge. 
But I am better than an Italian lady — I am a Roman 
woman — I weep tears of blood for the disorders of 
my unhappy country. I mourn that even you, my 
lord, — yes, that a barbarian, however eminent and 
however great, should mourn for Rome. I desire to 
restore her fortunes.” 

“ But Rienzi would only restore his own.” 

“ Not so, my Lord Cardinal ; not so. Ambitious 
and proud he may be — great souls are so — but he has 
never had one wish divorced from the welfare of Rome. 
But put aside all thought of his interests — it is not 


436 


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of these I speak. You desire to re-establish the papal 
power in Rome. Your senators have failed to do it. 
Demagogues fail — Rienzi alone can succeed ; he alone 
can command the turbulent passions of the Barons — 
he alone can sway the capricious and fickle mob. Re- 
lease, restore Rienzi, and through Rienzi the Pope re- 
gains Rome ! ” 

The Cardinal did not answer for some moments. 
Buried as in a reverie, he sate motionless, shading his 
face with his hand. Perhaps he secretly owned there 
was a wiser policy in the suggestions of the Signora 
than he cared openly to confess. Lifting his head, at 
length, from his bosom, he fixed his eyes upon the 
Signora’s watchful countenance, and, with a forced 
smile, said, 

“ Pardon me, madam ; but while we play the poli- 
ticians, forget not that I am thy adorer. Sagacious 
may be thy counsels, yet wherefore are they urged? 
Why this anxious interest for Rienzi? If by releasing 
him the Church may gain an ally, am I sure that Giles 
d’Albornoz will not raise a rival ? ” 

“ My lord,” said the Signora, half rising, “ you are 
my suitor; but your rank does not tempt me — your 
gold cannot buy. If you love me, I have a right to 
command your services to whatsoever task I would 
require — it is the law of chivalry. If ever I yield to 
the addresses of mortal lover, it will be to the man 
who restores to my native land her hero and her 
saviour.” 

“ Fair patriot,” said the Cardinal, “ your words en- 
courage my hope, yet they half damp my ambition; 
for fain would I desire that love and not service should 
alone give me the treasure that I ask. But hear me, 
sweet lady; you overrate my power: I cannot deliver 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 437 

Rienzi — he is accused of rebellion, he is excommuni- 
cated for heresy. His acquittal rests with himself.” 

“ You can procure his trial? ” 

“ Perhaps, Lady.” 

“ That is his acquittal. And a private audience of 
his Holiness ? ” 

“ Doubtless.” 

“ That is his restoration ! Behold all I ask ! ” 

“ And then, sweet Roman, it will be mine to ask,” 
said the Cardinal, passionately, dropping on his knee, 
and taking the Signora’s hand. For one moment, 
that proud lady felt that she was woman — she blushed, 
she trembled : but it was not (could the Cardinal have 
read that heart) with passion or with weakness ; it was 
with terror and with shame. Passively she surren- 
dered her hand to the Cardinal, who covered it with 
kisses. 

“ Thus inspired,” said Albornoz, rising, “ I will not 
doubt of success. To-morrow I wait on thee again.” 

He pressed her hand to his heart — the lady felt it 
not. He sighed his farewell — she did not hear it. 
Lingeringly he gazed ; and slowly he departed. But 
it was some moments before, recalled to herself, the 
Signora felt that she was alone. 

“ Alone ! ” she cried, half aloud, and with wild em- 
phasis — “ alone ! Oh, what have I undergone — what 
have I said ! Unfaithful even in thought to him! Oh, 
never ! never ! I that have felt the kiss of his hallow- 
ing lips — that have slept on his kingly heart — I ! — 
holy Mother, befriend and strengthen me ! ” she con- 
tinued, as, weeping bitterly, she sunk upon her knees ; 
and for some moments she was lost in prayer. Then, 
rising composed, but deadly pale, and with the tears 
rolling heavily down her cheeks, the Signora passed 


438 


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slowly to the casement ; she threw it open, and bent 
forward; the air of the declining day came softly on 
her temples; it cooled, it mitigated, the fever that 
preyed within. Dark and huge before her frowned, 
in its gloomy shadow, the tower in which Rienzi was 
confined ; she gazed at it long and wistfully, and then, 
turning away, drew from the folds of her robe a small 
and sharp dagger. “ Let me save him for glory ! ” 
she murmured ; “ and this shall save me from dis- 
honour ! ” 


CHAPTER III 

HOLY MEN. SAGACIOUS DELIBERATIONS. JUST RE- 

SOLVES. — AND SORDID MOTIVES TO ALL 

Enamoured of the beauty, and almost equally so of 
the lofty spirit, of the Signora Cesarini, as was the 
warlike Cardinal of Spain, love with him was not so 
master a passion as that ambition of complete success 
in all the active designs of life, which had hitherto 
animated his character and signalised his career. 
Musing, as he left the Signora, on her wish for the 
restoration of the Roman Tribune, his experienced 
and profound intellect ran swiftly through whatever 
advantages to his own political designs might result 
from that restoration. We have seen that it was the 
intention of the new Pontiff to attempt the recovery 
of the patrimonial territories, now torn from him by the 
gripe of able and disaffected tyrants. With this view, 
a military force was already in preparation, and the 
Cardinal was already secretly nominated the chief. 
But the force was very inadequate to the enterprise ; 
and Albornoz depended much upon the moral strength 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 439 

of the cause in bringing recruits to his standard in his 
progress through the Italian states. The wonderful 
rise of Rienzi had excited an extraordinary enthusiasm 
in his favour through all the free populations of Italy. 
And this had been yet more kindled and inflamed by 
the influential eloquence of Petrarch, who, at that time, 
possessed of a power greater than ever, before or since, 
(not even excepting the Sage of Ferney,) wielded by 
a single literary man, had put forth his boldest genius 
in behalf of the Roman Tribune. Such a companion 
as Rienzi in the camp of the Cardinal might be a mag- 
net of attraction to the youth and enterprise of Italy. 
On nearing Rome, he might himself judge how far it 
would be advisable to reinstate Rienzi as a delegate of 
the papal power. And, in the meanwhile, the Ro- 
man’s influence might be serviceable, whether to awe 
the rebellious nobles or conciliate the stubborn people. 
On the other hand, the Cardinal was shrewd enough 
to perceive that no possible good could arise from 
Rienzi’s present confinement. With every month it 
excited deeper and more universal sympathy. To his 
lonely dungeon turned half the hearts of republican 
Italy. Literature had leagued its new and sudden, 
and therefore mighty and even disproportioned, power 
with his cause; and the Pope, without daring to be 
his judge, incurred the odium of being his gaoler. “ A 
popular prisoner,” said the sagacious Cardinal to him- 
self, “ is the most dangerous of guests. Restore him 
as your servant, or destroy him as your foe! In this 
case I see no alternative but acquittal or the knife ! ” 
In these reflections that able plotter, deep in the 
Machiavelism of the age, divorced the lover from the 
statesman. 

Recurring now to the former character, he felt some 


440 


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disagreeable and uneasy forebodings at the earnest in- 
terest of his mistress. Fain would he have attributed, 
either to some fantasy of patriotism or some purpose 
of revenge, the anxiety of the Cesarini ; and there was 
much in her stern and haughty character which fa- 
voured that belief. But he was forced to acknowledge 
to himself some jealous apprehension of a sinister and 
latent motive, which touched his vanity and alarmed 
his love. “ Howbeit,” he thought, as he turned from 
his unwilling fear, “ I can play with her at her own 
weapons ; I can obtain the release of Rienzi, and claim 
my reward. If denied, the hand that opened the 
dungeon can again rivet the chain. In her anxiety 
is my power ! ” 

These thoughts the Cardinal was still revolving in 
his palace, when he was suddenly summoned to attend 
the Pontiff. 

The pontifical palace no longer exhibited the gor- 
geous yet graceful luxury of Clement VI., and the sar- 
castic Cardinal smiled to himself at the quiet gloom of 
the ante-chambers. “ He thinks to set an example — 
this poor native of Limoges ! ” thought Albornoz ; 
“ and has but the mortification of finding himself 
eclipsed by the poorest bishop. He humbles himself, 
and fancies that the humility will be contagious.” 

His Holiness was seated before a small and rude 
table bestrewed with papers, his face buried in his 
hands ; the room was simply furnished, and in a small 
niche beside the casement was an ivory crucifix ; be- 
low, the death’s head and cross-bones, which most 
monks then introduced with a purpose similar to that 
of the ancients by the like ornaments, — mementos of 
the shortness of life, and therefore admonitions to 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 441 


make the best of it ! On the ground lay a map of the 
Patrimonial Territory, with the fortresses in especial, 
distinctly and prominently marked. The Pope gently 
lifted up his head as the Cardinal was announced, and 
discovered a plain but sensible and somewhat inter- 
esting countenance. “ My son ! ” said he, with a 
kindly courtesy to the lowly salutation of the proud 
Spaniard, “ scarcely wouldst thou imagine, after our 
long conference this morning, that new cares would 
so soon demand the assistance of thy counsels. Verily, 
the wreath of thorns stings sharp under the triple 
crown; and I sometimes long for the quiet abode of 
my old professor’s chair in Toulouse : my station is of 
pain and of toil.” 

“ God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,” ob- 
served the Cardinal, with pious and compassionate 
gravity. 

Innocent could scarcely refrain a smile as he replied, 
“ The lamb that carries the cross must have the 
strength of the lion. Since we parted, my son, I have 
had painful intelligence ; our couriers have arrived 
from the Campagna — the heathen rage furiously — the 
force of John di Vico has augmented fearfully, and the 
most redoubted adventurer of Europe has enlisted 
under his banner.” 

“ Does his Holiness,” cried the Cardinal, anxiously, 
“ speak of Fra Moreale, the Knight of St. John? ” 

“ Of no less a warrior,” returned the Pontiff. “ I 
dread the vast ambition of that wild adventurer.” 

“ Your Holiness hath cause,” said the Cardinal, 
drily. 

“ Some letters of his have fallen into the hands of 
the servants of the Church ; they are here : read them, 
my son.” 


442 


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Albornoz received and deliberately scanned the let- 
ters ; this done, he replaced them on the table, and re- 
mained for a few moments silent and absorbed. 

“What think you, my son?” said the Pope, at 
length, with an impatient and even peevish tone. 

“ I think that, with Montreal’s hot genius and John 
di Vico’s frigid villany, your Holiness may live to 
envy, if not the quiet, at least the revenue, of the 
Professor’s chair.” 

“ How, Cardinal ! ” said the Pope, hastily, and with 
an angry flush on his pale brow. 

The Cardinal quietly proceeded : 

“ By these letters it seems that Montreal has written 
to all the commanders of free lances throughout Italy, 
offering the highest pay of a soldier to every man who 
will join his standard, combined with the richest plun- 
der of a brigand. He meditates great schemes then ! 
— I know the man ! ” 

“ Well, — and our course? ” 

“ Is plain,” said the Cardinal, loftily, and with an 
eye that flashed with a soldier’s fire. “ Not a moment 
is to be lost ! Thy son should at once take the field. 
Up with the Banner of the Church ! ” 

“ But are we strong enough ? our numbers are few. 
Zeal slackens ! the piety of the Baldwins is no more ! ” 

“ Your Holiness knows well,” said the Cardinal, 
“ that for the multitude of men there are two watch- 
words of war — Liberty and Religion. If Religion be- 
gins to fail, we must employ the profaner word. ‘ Up 
with the Banner of the Church — and down with the 
tyrants ! ’ We will proclaim equal laws and free gov- 
ernment;* and, God willing, our camp shall prosper 

* In correcting the pages of this work, in the year 1847 • • * 
strange coincidences between the present policy of the Ro- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 443 


better with those promises than the tents of Montreal 
with the more vulgar shout of ‘ Pay and Rapine.’ ” 

“ Giles d’Albornoz,” said the Pope, emphatically ; 
and, warmed by the spirit of the Cardinal, he dropped 
the wonted etiquette of the phrase, “ I trust implicitly 
to you. Now the right hand of the Church — hereafter, 
perhaps, its head. Too well I feel that the lot has 
fallen on a lowly place. My successor must requite 
my deficiencies.” 

No changing hue, no brightening glance, betrayed 
to the searching eye of the Pope whatever emotion 
these words had called up in the breast of the ambi- 
tious Cardinal. He bowed his proud head humbly as 
he answered, “ Pray Heaven that Innocent VI. may 
long live to guide the Church to glory. For Giles 
d’Albornoz, less priest than soldier, the din of the 
camp, the breath of the war-steed, suggest the only 
aspirations which he ever dares indulge. But has 
your Holiness imparted to your servant all that ” 

“Nay,” interrupted Innocent, “I have yet intelli- 
gence equally ominous. This John di Vico, — pest go 
with him ! — who still styles himself (the excommuni- 
cated ruffian !) Prefect of Rome, has so filled that un- 
happy city with his emissaries, that we have well-nigh 
lost the seat of the Apostle. Rome, long in anarchy, 
seems now in open rebellion. The nobles — sons of 
Belial! — it is true, are once more humbled; but how? 
— One Baroncelli a new demagogue, the fiercest — the 
most bloody that the fiend ever helped — has arisen — 
is invested by the mob with power, and uses it to 
butcher the people and insult the Pontiff. Wearied of 

man Church and that by which in the 14th century it recov- 
ered both spiritual and temporal power cannot fail to suggest 
themselves. 


444 


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the crimes of this man, (which are not even decorated 
by ability,) the shout of the people day and night 
along the streets is for ‘ Rienzi the Tribune.’ ” 

“ Ha ! ” said the Cardinal, “ Rienzi’s faults then are 
forgotten in Rome, and there is felt for him the same 
enthusiasm in that city as in the rest of Italy ? ” 

“ Alas ! it is so.” 

“ It is well, I have thought of this : Rienzi can ac- 
company my progress ” 

“ My son ! the rebel, the heretic ” 

“ By your Holiness’s absolution will become a 
quiet subject and orthodox Catholic,” said Albornoz. 
“ Men are good or bad as they suit our purpose. 
What matters a virtue that is useless, or a crime that 
is useful, to us? The army of the Church proceeds 
against tyrants — it proclaims everywhere to the Papal 
towns the restoration of their popular constitutions. 
Sees not your Holiness that the acquittal of Rienzi, the 
popular darling, will be hailed an earnest of your sin- 
cerity? — sees not your Holiness that his name will 
fight for us?— sees not your Holiness that the great 
demagogue Rienzi must be used to extinguish the 
little demagogue Baroncelli? We must regain the 
Romans, whether of the city or whether in the seven 
towns of John di Vico. When they hear Rienzi is in 
our camp, trust me, we shall have a multitude of de- 
serters from the tyrants — trust me, we shall hear no 
more of Baroncelli.” 

“ Ever sagacious,” said the Pope, musingly ; “ it is 
true we can use this man: but with caution. His 
genius is formidable ” 

“ And therefore must be conciliated ; if we acquit, 
we must make him ours. My experience has taught 
me this, when you cannot slay a demagogue by law. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 445 


crush him with honours. He must be no longer Trib- 
une of the People. Give him the Patrician title of 
Senator, and he is then the Lieutenant of the Pope ! ” 

“ I will see to this, my son — your suggestions please, 
but alarm me : he shall at least be examined ; — but if 
found a heretic ” 

“ Should, I humbly advise, be declared a saint.” 

The Pope bent his brow for a moment, but the effort 
was too much for him, and after a moment’s struggle, 
he fairly laughed aloud. 

“ Go to, my son,” said he, affectionately patting the 
Cardinal’s sallow cheek. “ Go to. — If the world heard 
thee, what would it say ? ” 

“ That Giles d’Albornoz had just enough religion to 
remember that the State is a Church, but not too much 
to forget that the Church is a State.” 

With these words the conference ended. That very 
evening the Pope decreed that Rienzi should be per- 
mitted the trial he had demanded. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE LADY AND THE PAGE 

It wanted three hours of midnight, when Albornoz, 
resuming his character of gallant, despatched to the 
Signora Cesarini the following billet. 

“ Your commands are obeyed. Rienzi will receive 
an examination on his faith. It is well that he should 
be prepared. It may suit your purpose, as to which 
I am so faintly enlightened, to appear to the prisoner 
what you are — the obtainer of this grace. See how 
implicitly one noble heart can trust another! I send 


446 


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by the bearer an order that will admit one of your 
servitors to the prisoner’s cell. Be it, if you will, your 
task to announce to him the new crisis of his fate. 
Ah ! madam, may fortune be as favourable to me, and 
grant me the same intercessor — from thy lips my sen- 
tence is to come.” 

As Albornoz finished this epistle, he summoned his 
confidential attendant, a Spanish gentleman, who saw 
nothing in his noble birth that should prevent his ful- 
filling the various behests of the Cardinal. 

“ Alvarez,” said he, “ these to the Signora Cesarini 
by another hand ; thou art unknown to her household. 
Repair to the state tower ; this to the Governor admits 
thee. Mark who is admitted to the prisoner Cola di 
Rienzi. Know his name, examine whence he comes. 
Be keen, Alvarez. Learn by what motive the Cesar- 
ini interests herself in the prisoner’s fate. All too of 
herself, birth, fortunes, lineage, would be welcome in- 
telligence. Thou comprehendest me? It is well. One 
caution — thou hast no mission from, no connection 
with, me. Thou art an officer of the prison, or of the 
Pope, — what thou wilt. Give me the rosary ; light the 
lamp before the crucifix ; place yon hair-shirt beneath 
those arms. I would have it appear as if meant to be 
hidden! Tell Gomez that the Dominican preacher is 
to be admitted.” 

“ Those friars have zeal,” continued the Cardinal to 
himself, as, after executing his orders, Alvarez with- 
drew. “ They would burn a man — but only on the 
Bible ? They are worth conciliating, if the triple crown 
be really worth the winning; were it mine, I would 
add the eagle’s plume to it.” 

And plunged into the aspiring future, this bold man 
forgot even the object of his passion, In real life, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 447 


after a certain age, ambitious men love indeed ; but it 
is only as an interlude. And indeed with most men, 
life has more absorbing though not more frequent con- 
cerns than those of love. Love is the business of the 
idle, but the idleness of the busy. 

The Cesarini was alone when the Cardinal’s mes- 
senger arrived, and he was scarcely dismissed with a 
few lines, expressive of a gratitude which seemed to 
bear down all those guards with which the coldness 
of the Signora usually fenced her pride, before the 
page Angelo was summoned to her presence. 

The room was dark with the shades of the gathering 
night when the youth entered, and he discerned but 
dimly the outline of the Signora’s stately form ; but 
by the tone of her voice, he perceived that she was 
deeply agitated. 

“ Angelo,” said she, as he approached, “ Angelo — ” 
and her voice failed her. She paused as for breath 
and again proceeded, “ You alone have served us faith- 
fully; you alone shared our escape, our wanderings, 
our exile — you alone know my secret — you of my 
train alone are Roman ! — Roman ! it was once a great 
name. Angelo, the name has fallen ; but it is only 
because the nature of the Roman Race fell first. 
Haughty they are, but fickle; fierce, but dastard; 
vehement in promise, but rotten in their faith. You 
are a Roman, and though I have proved your truth, 
your very birth makes me afraid of falsehood.” 

“ Madam,” said the page, “ I was but a child when 
you admitted me into your service, and I am yet only 
on the verge of manhood. But boy though I yet be, 
I would brave the stoutest lance of knight or free- 
booter, in defence of the faith of Angelo Viliam, to 
his liege Lady and his native land.” 


448 


RIENZI 


“ Alas ! alas ! ” said the Signora, bitterly, “ such have 
been the words of thousands of thy race. What have 
been their deeds? But I will trust thee, as I have 
trusted ever. I know that thou art covetous of honour, 
that thou hast youth’s comely and bright ambition.” 

“ I am an orphan and a bastard,” said Angelo, blunt- 
ly ! “ And circumstance stings me sharply on to 

action ; I would win my own name.” 

“ Thou shalt,” said the Signora. “We shall live yet 
to reward thee. And now be quick. Bring hither one 
of thy page’s suits, — mantle and head-gear. Quick, I 
say, and whisper not to a soul what I have asked of 
thee.” 


CHAPTER V 

THE INMATE OF THE TOWER 

The night slowly advanced, and in the highest cham- 
ber of that dark and rugged tower which fronted the 
windows of the Cesarini’s palace sate a solitary pris- 
oner. A single lamp burned before him on a table of 
stone, and threw its rays over an open Bible ; and those 
stern but fantastic legends of the prowess of ancient 
Rome, which the genius of Livy has dignified into 
history.* A chain hung pendant from the vault of the 
tower, and confined the captive ; but so as to leave his 
limbs at sufficient liberty to measure at will the greater 
part of the cell. Green and damp were the mighty 
stones of the walls, and through a narrow aperture, 

* “ Avea libri assai, suo Tito Livio, sue storie di Roma, la 
Bibbia et altri libri assai, non finava di studiare.” — Vit. _ di 
Col. di Rienzi, lib. ii. cap. 13. See translation to motto to 
Book VII., p. 419. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 449 

high out of reach, came the moonlight, and slept in 
long shadow over the rude floor. A bed at one corner 
completed the furniture of the room. Such for months 
had been the abode of the conqueror of the haughtiest 
Barons, and the luxurious dictator of the stateliest city 
•of the world ! 

Care, and travel, and time, and adversity had 
wrought their change in the person of Rienzi. The 
proportions of his frame had enlarged from the com- 
pact strength of earlier manhood, the clear paleness 
of his cheek was bespread with a hectic and deceitful 
glow. Even in his present studies, intent as they 
seemed, and genial though the lecture to a mind en- 
thusiastic even to fanaticism, his eyes could not rivet 
themselves as of yore steadily to the page. The charm 
was gone from the letters. Every now and then he 
moved restlessly, started, re-settled himself, and mut- 
tered broken exclamations like a man in an anxious 
dream. Anon, his gaze impatiently turned upward, 
about, around, and there was a strange and wandering 
fire in those large deep eyes, which might have thrilled 
the beholder with a vague and unaccountable awe. 

Angelo had in the main correctly narrated the more 
recent adventures of Rienzi after his fall. He had 
first with Nina and Angelo betaken himself to Naples, 
and found a fallacious and brief favour with Louis, 
king of Hungary ; that harsh but honourable monarch 
had refused to yield his illustrious guest to the de- 
mands of Clement, but had plainly declared his inabil- 
ity to shelter him in safety. Maintaining secret inter- 
course with his partisans at Rome, the fugitive then 
sought a refuge with the Eremites, sequestered in the 
lone recesses of the Monte Maiella, where in solitude 
and thought he had passed a whole year, save the time 
29 


450 


RIENZI 


consumed in his visit to and return from Florence. 
Taking advantage of the Jubilee in Rome, he had then, 
disguised as a pilgrim, traversed the vales and moun- 
tains still rich in the melancholy ruins of ancient Rome, 
and entering the city, his restless and ambitious spirit 
indulged in new but vain conspiracies ! * Excommuni- 
cated a second time by the Cardinal di Ceccano, and 
again a fugitive, he shook the dust from his feet as he 
left the city, and raising his hands towards those walls, 
in which are yet traced the witness of the Tarquins, 
cried aloud — “ Honoured as thy prince — persecuted 
as thy victim — Rome, Rome, thou shalt yet receive 
me as thy conqueror ! ” 

Still disguised as a pilgrim, he passed unmolested 
through Italy into the Court of the Emperor Charles 
of Bohemia, where the page, who had probably wit- 
nessed, had rightly narrated, his reception. It is doubt- 
ful, however, whether the conduct of the Emperor had 
been as chivalrous as appears by Angelo’s relation, 
or whether he had not delivered Rienzi to the Pontiff’s 
emissaries. At all events, it is certain, that from 
Prague to Avignon, the path of the fallen Tribune had 
been as one triumph. His strange adventures — his un- 
broken spirit — the new power that Intellect daily and 
wonderfully excited over the minds of the rising gen- 
eration — the eloquence of Petrarch, and the common 
sympathy of the vulgar for fallen greatness, — all con- 
spired to make Rienzi the hero of the age. Not a 
town through which he passed which would not have 
risked a siege for his protection — not a house that 
would not have sheltered him — not a hand that would 
not have struck in his defence. Refusing all offers 
of aid, disdaining all occasion of escape, inspired by 
* Rainald, Ann. 1350, N. 4, E. 5. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 451 

his indomitable hope, and his unalloyed belief in the 
brightness of his own destinies, the Tribune sought 
Avignon — and found a dungeon ! 

These, his external adventures, are briefly and easily 
told ; but who shall tell what passed within ? — who nar- 
rate the fearful history of the heart? — who paint the 
rapid changes of emotion and of thought — the indig- 
nant grief — the stern dejection — the haughty disap- 
pointment that saddened while it never destroyed the 
resolve of that great soul? Who can say what must 
have been endured, what meditated, in the hermitage 
of Maiella ; — on the lonely hills of the perished empire 
it had been his dream to restore; — in the Courts of 
Barbarian Kings ; — and above all, on returning obscure 
and disguised, amidst the crowds of the Christian 
world, to the seat of his former power? What ele- 
ments of memory, and in what a wild and fiery brain ! 
What reflections to be conned in the dungeons of 
Avignon, by a man who had pushed into all the fervour 
of fanaticism — -four passions, a single one of which has, 
in excess, sufficed to wreck the strongest reason — 
passions, which in themselves it is most difficult to 
combine, — the dreamer — the aspirant — the very nym- 
pholept of Freedom, yet of Power — of Knowledge, 
yet of Religion ! 

“ Ay,” muttered the prisoner, “ ay, these texts are 
comforting — comforting. The righteous are not al- 
ways oppressed.” With a long sigh he deliberately 
put aside the Bible, kissed it with great reverence, re- 
mained silent, and musing for some minutes ; and then 
as a slight noise was heard at one corner of the cell, 
said softly, “ Ah, my friends, my comrades, the rats ! 
it is their hour — I am glad I put aside the bread for 
them ! ” His eye brightened as it now detected those 


452 


RIENZI 


strange and unsocial animals venturing forth through 
a hole in the wall, and darkening the moonshine on 
the floor, steal fearlessly towards him. He flung some 
fragments of bread to them, and for some moments 
watched their gambols with a smile. “ Manchino, the 
white-faced rascal ! he beats all the rest — ha, ha ! he 
is a superior wretch — he commands the tribe, and will 
venture the first into the trap. How will he bite against 
the steel, the fine fellow ! while all the ignobler herd 
will gaze at him afar off, and quake and fear, and never 
help. Yet if united, they might gnaw the trap and 
release their leader ! Ah, ye are base vermin, ye eat 
my bread, yet if death came upon me, ye would riot 
on my carcass. Away ! ” and clapping his hands, the 
chain round him clanked harshly, and the noisome co- 
mates of his dungeon vanished in an instant. 

That singular and eccentric humour which marked 
Rienzi and which had seemed a buffoonery to the 
stolid sullenness of the Roman nobles, still retained 
its old expression in his countenance, and he laughed 
loud as he saw the vermin hurry back to their hiding- 
place. 

“A little noise and the clank of a chain — fie, how 
ye imitate mankind ! ” Again he sank into silence, 
and then heavily and listlessly drawing towards him 
the animated tales of Livy, said, “ An hour to mid- 
night! — waking dreams are better than sleep. Well, 
history tells us how men have risen — ay, and nations 
too — after sadder falls than that of Rienzi or of 
Rome ! ” 

In a few minutes, he was apparently absorbed in the 
lecture; so intent indeed was he in the task, that he 
did not hear the steps which wound the spiral stairs 
that conducted to his cell, and it was not till the wards 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 453 

harshly grated beneath the huge key, and the door 
creaked on its hinges, that Rienzi, in amaze at intru- 
sion at so unwonted an hour, lifted his eyes. The 
door had reclosed on the dungeon, and by the lonely 
and pale lamp he beheld a figure leaning, as for sup- 
port, against the wall. The figure was wrapped from 
head to foot in the long cloak of the day, which, aided 
by a broad hat, shaded by plumes, concealed even the 
features of the visitor. 

Rienzi gazed long and wistfully. 

“ Speak,” he said at length, putting his hand to his 
brow. “ Methinks either long solitude has bewildered 
me, or sweet sir, your apparition dazzles. I know you 
not — am I sure? — ” and Rienzi’s hair bristled while 
he slowly rose — “ Am I sure that it is a living man 
who stands before me? Angels have entered the 
prison-house before now. Alas! an angel's comfort 
never was more needed.” 

The stranger answered not, but the captive saw that 
his heart heaved even beneath his cloak ; loud sobs 
choked his voice; at length, as by a violent effort, 
he sprung forward, and sunk at the Tribune’s feet. 
The disguising hat, the long mantle fell to the ground 
— it was the face of a woman that looked upward 
through passionate and glazing tears — the arms of a 
woman that clasped the prisoner’s knees! Rienzi 
gazed mute and motionless as stone. “ Powers and 
Saints of Heaven ! ” he murmured at last, “ do ye 
tempt me further! — is it? — no, no — yet speak!” 

“ Beloved — adored! — do you not know me?” 

“ It is — -it is ! ” shrieked Rienzi wildly, “ it is my 

Nina — my wife — my ” His voice forsook him. 

Clasped in each other’s arms, the unfortunates for some 
moments seemed to have lost even the sense of delight 


454 


RIENZI 


at their reunion. It was as an unconscious and deep 
trance, through which something like a dream only 
faintly and indistinctly stirs. 

At length recovered — at length restored, the first 
broken exclamations, the first wild caresses of joy over 
— Nina lifted her head from her husband’s bosom, and 
gazed sadly on his countenance — “ Oh, what thou hast 
known since we parted ! — what, since that hour when, 
borne on by thy bold heart and wild destiny, thou 
didst leave me in the Imperial Court, to seek again 
the diadem and find the chain ! Ah ! why did I heed 
thy commands? — why suffer thee to depart alone? 
How often in thy progress hitherward, in doubt, in 
danger, might this bosom have been thy resting-place, 
and this voice have whispered comfort to thy soul ! 
Thou art well, my Lord — my Cola ! Thy pulse beats 
quicker than of old — thy brow is furrowed. Ah ! tell 
me thou art well ! ” 

“ Well,” said Rienzi, mechanically. “ Methinks so ! 
— the mind diseased blunts all sense of bodily decay. 
Well — yes ! And thou — thou, at least, art not changed, 
save to maturer beauty. The glory of the laurel-wreath 
has not faded from thy brow. Thou shalt yet — ” then 
breaking off abruptly — “ Rome — tell me of Rome ! 
And thou — how earnest thou hither? Ah ! perhaps my 
doom is sealed, and in their mercy they have vouch- 
safed that I should see thee once more before the 
deathsman blinds me. I remember, it is the grace 
vouchsafed to malefactors. When I was a lord of life 
and death, I too permitted the meanest criminal to 
say farewell to those he loved.” 

“ No — not so, Cola ! ” exclaimed Nina, putting her 
hand before his mouth. “ I bring thee more auspi- 
cious tidings. To-morrow thou art to be heard. The 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 455 

favour of the Court is propitiated. Thou wilt be ac- 
quitted.” 

“ Ha ! speak again.” 

K Thou wilt be heard, my Cola — thou must be ac- 
quitted ! ” 

“ And Rome be free !— Great God, I thank Thee ! ” 

The Tribune sank on his knees, and never had his 
heart, in his youngest and purest hour, poured forth 
thanksgiving more fervent, yet less selfish. When he 
rose again, the whole man seemed changed. His eye 
had resumed its earlier expressions of deep and serene 
command. Majesty sate upon his brow. The sorrows 
of the exile were forgotten. In his sanguine and rapid 
thoughts, he stood once more the guardian of his 
country, — and its sovereign ! 

Nina gazed upon him with that intense and devoted 
worship, which steeped her vainer and her harder qual- 
ities in all the fondness of the softest woman. “ Such,” 
thought she, “ was his look eight years ago, when he 
left my maiden chamber, full of the mighty schemes 
which liberated Rome — such his look, when at the 
dawning sun he towered amidst the crouching Barons, 
and the kneeling population of the city he had made 
his throne ! ” 

“ Yes, Nina! ” said Rienzi, as he turned and caught 
her eye. “ My soul tells me that my hour is at hand. 
If they try me openly, they dare not convict — if they 
acquit me, they dare not but restore. To-morrow, 
saidst thou, to-morrow?” 

“ To-morrow, Rienzi ; be prepared ! ” 

“ I am — for triumph ! But tell me what happy 
chance brought thee to Avignon ? ” 

“ Chance , Cola ! ” said Nina, with reproachful ten- 
derness. “ Could I know that thou wert in the dun- 


RIENZI 


456 

geons of the Pontiff, and linger in idle security at 
Prague? Even at the Emperor’s Court thou hadst 
thy partisans and favourers. Gold was easily procured. 
I repaired to Florence — disguised my name — and came 
hither to plot, to scheme, to win thy liberty, or to die 
with thee. Ah ! did not thy heart tell thee that morn- 
ing and night the eyes of thy faithful Nina gazed upon 
this gloomy tower ; and that one friend, humble though 
she be, never could forsake thee ! ” 

“ Sweet Nina! Yet — yet — at Avignon power yields 
not to beauty without reward. Remember, there is a 
worse death than the pause of life.” 

Nina turned pale. “ Fear not,” she said, with a low 
but determined voice ; “ fear not, that men’s lips should 
say Rienzi’s wife delivered him. None in this cor- 
rupted Court know that I am thy wife.” 

“ Woman,” said the Tribune, sternly ; “ thy lips elude 
the answer I would seek. In our degenerate time and 
land, thy sex and ours forget too basely what foulness 
writes a leprosy in the smallest stain upon a matron’s 
honour. That thy heart would never wrong me, I be- 
lieve ; but if thy weakness, thy fear of my death should 
wrong me, thou art a bitterer foe to Rienzi than the 
swords of the Colonna. Nina, speak ! ” 

“ Oh, that my soul could speak,” answered Nina. 
“ Thy words are music to me, and not a thought of 
mine but echoes them. Could I touch this hand, could 
I meet that eye, and not know that death were dearer 
to thee than shame? Rienzi, when last we parted, 
in sadness, yet in hope, what were thy words to 
me?” 

“ I remember them well,” returned the Tribune : “ ‘ I 
leave thee,’ I said, ‘ to keep alive at the Emperor’s 
Court, by thy genius, the Great Cause. Thou hast 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 457 

youth and beauty — and courts have lawless and ruf- 
fian suitors. I give thee no caution ; it were beneath 
thee and me. But I leave thee the power of death/ 

And with that, Nina ” 

“ Thy hands tremblingly placed in mine this dagger. 
I live — need I say more ? ” 

“ My noble and beloved Nina, it is enough. Keep 
the dagger yet.” 

“ Yes ; till we meet in the Capitol of Rome ! ” 

A slight tap was heard at the door; Nina regained, 
in an instant, her disguise. 

“ It is on the stroke of midnight,” said the gaoler, 
appearing at the threshold. 

“ I come,” said Nina. 

“ And thou hast to prepare thy thoughts,” she whis- 
pered to Rienzi : “ arm all thy glorious intellect. 
Alas ! is it again we part ? How my heart sinks ! ” 
The presence of the gaoler at the threshold broke 
the bitterness of parting by abridging it. The false 
page pressed her lips on the prisoner’s hand and left 
the cell. 

The gaoler, lingering behind for a moment, placed 
a parchment on the table. It was the summons from 
the court appointed for the trial of the Tribune. 


CHAPTER VI 

THE SCENT DOES NOT LIE. — THE PRIEST AND THE 
SOLDIER 

On descending the stairs, Nina was met by Alvarez. 
“ Fair page,” said the Spaniard, gaily, “ thy name, 
thou tellest me, is Villani? — Angelo Villani — why I 


458 


RIENZI 


know thy kinsman, methinks. Vouchsafe, young mas- 
ter, to enter this chamber, and drink a night-cup to 
thy lady’s health; I would fain learn tidings of my 
old friends.” 

“ At another time,” answered the false Angelo, 
drawing the cloak closer round her face ; “ it is late — 
I am hurried.” 

“ Nay,” said the Spaniard, “ you escape me not so 
easily ; ” and he caught firm hold of the page’s shoul- 
der. 

“ Unhand me, sir ! ” said Nina, haughtily, and almost 
weeping, for her strong nerves were yet unstrung. 
“ Gaoler, at thy peril — unbar the gates.” 

“ So hot,” said Alvarez, surprised at so great a waste 
of dignity in a page ; “ nay, I meant not to offend thee. 
May I wait on thy pageship to-morrow ? ” 

“ Ay, to-morrow,” said Nina, eager to escape. 

“ And meanwhile,” said Alvarez, “ I will accompany 
thee home — we can confer by the way.” 

So saying, without regarding the protestations of the 
supposed page, he passed with Nina into the open air. 
“Your lady,” said he, carelessly, “is wondrous fair; 
her lightest will is law to the greatest noble of Avignon. 
Methinks she is of Naples — is it so? Art thou dumb, 
sweet youth ? ” 

The page did not answer, but with a step so rapid 
that it almost put the slow Spaniard out of breath, 
hastened along the narrow space between the tower 
and the palace of the Signora Cesarini, nor could all 
the efforts of Alvarez draw forth a single syllable from 
his reluctant companion, till they reached the gates 
of the palace, and he found himself discourteously left 
without the walls. 

“ A plague on the boy ! ” said he, biting his lips ; 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 459 

“ if the Cardinal thrive as well as his servant, by’re 
Lady, Monsignor is a happy man ! ” 

By no means pleased with the prospect of an inter- 
view with Albornoz, who, like most able men, valued 
the talents of those he employed exactly in proportion 
to their success, the Spaniard slowly returned home. 
With the licence accorded to him, he entered the Car- 
dinal’s chamber somewhat abruptly, and perceived 
him in earnest conversation with a Cavalier, whose 
long moustache, curled upward, and the bright cuirass 
worn underneath his mantle, seemed to betoken him 
of martial profession. Pleased with the respite, Al- 
varez hastily withdrew : and, in fact, the Cardinal’s 
thoughts at that moment, and for that night, were bent 
upon other subjects than those of love. 

The interruption served, however, to shorten the 
conversation between Albornoz and his guest. The 
latter rose. 

“ I think,” said he, buckling on a short and broad 
rapier, which he laid aside during the interview, — “ I 
think, my Lord Cardinal, you encourage me to con- 
sider that our negotiation stands a fair chance of a 
prosperous close. Ten thousand florins, and my 
brother quits Viterbo, and launches the thunderbolt 
of the Company on the lands of Rimini. On your 
part ” 

“ On my part it is agreed,” said the Cardinal, “ that 
the army of the Church interferes not with the course 
of your brother’s arms — there is peace between us. 
One warrior understands another ! ” 

“ And the word of Giles d’ Albornoz, son of the 
royal race of Aragon, is a guarantee for the faith of 
a Cardinal,” replied the Cavalier, with a smile. “ It is, 
my Lord, in your former quality that we treat.” 


460 


RIENZI 


“ There is my right hand,” answered Albornoz, too 
politic to heed the insinuation. The Cavalier raised 
it respectfully to his lips, and his armed tread was 
soon heard descending the stairs. 

“ Victory,” cried Albornoz, tossing his arms aloof ; 
“ Victory, now thou art mine ! ” 

With that he rose hastily, deposited his papers in 
an iron chest, and opening a concealed door behind 
the arras, entered a chamber that rather resembled a 
monk’s cell than the apartment of a prince. Over a 
mean pallet hung a sword, a dagger, and a rude im- 
age of the Virgin. Without summoning Alvarez the 
Cardinal unrobed, and in a few moments was asleep. 


CHAPTER VII 

VAUCLUSE AND ITS GENIUS LOCI. OLD ACQUAINTANCE , 

RENEWED 

The next day at early noon the Cavalier, whom our 
last chapter presented to the reader, was seen mounted 
on a strong Norman horse, winding his way slowly 
along a green and pleasant path some miles from Avi- 
gnon. At length he found himself in a wild and 
romantic valley, through which wandered that de- 
lightful river whose name the verse of Petrarch has 
given to so beloved a fame. Sheltered by rocks, and 
in this part winding through the greenest banks, en- 
amelled with a thousand wild flowers and water-reeds, 
went the crystal Sorgia. Advancing farther, the land- 
scape assumed a more sombre and sterile aspect. The 
valley seemed enclosed or shut in by fantastic rocks of 
a thousand shapes, down which dashed and glittered 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 461 

a thousand rivulets. And, in the very wildest of the 
scene, the ground suddenly opened into a quaint and 
cultivated garden, through which, amidst a profusion 
of foliage was seen a small and lonely mansion, — the 
hermitage of the place. The horseman was in the 
valley of the Vaucluse and before his eye lay the 
garden and the house of Petrarch ! Carelessly, how- 
ever, his eye scanned the consecrated spot; and un- 
consciously it rested for a moment, upon a solitary 
figure seated musingly by the margin of the river. A 
large dog at the side of the noonday idler barked at 
the horseman as he rode on. “ A brave animal and 
a deep bay ! ” thought the traveller ; to him the dog 
seemed an object much more interesting than its mas- 
ter. And so, — as the crowd of little men pass un- 
heeding and unmoved those in whom Posterity shall 
acknowledge the landmarks of their age, — the horse- 
man turned his glance from the Poet ! 

Thrice blessed name ! Immortal Florentine ! * not 
as the lover, nor even as the poet, do I bow before 
thy consecrated memory — venerating thee as one it 
were sacrilege to introduce in this unworthy page — 
save by name and as a shadow; but as the first who 
ever asserted to people and to prince the august maj- 
esty of Letters ; who claimed to Genius the preroga- 
tive to influence states, to control opinion, to hold an 
empire over the hearts of men, and prepare events 
by animating passion, and guiding thought! What, 
(though but feebly felt and dimly seen) — what do we 
yet owe to Thee if Knowledge be now a Power; if 
mind be a Prophet and a Fate, foretelling and fore- 
dooming the things to come! From the greatest to 

* I need scarcely say that it is his origin, not his actual 
birth, which entitles us to term Petrarch a Florentine. 


462 


RIENZI 


the least of us, to whom the pen is at once a sceptre 
and a sword, the low-born Florentine has been the 
arch-messenger to smooth the way and prepare the 
welcome. Yes! even the meanest of the aftercomers 
— even he who now vents his gratitude, — is thine ever- 
lasting debtor! Thine, how largely is the honour, if 
his labours, humble though they be, find an audience 
wherever literature is known ; preaching in remotest 
lands the moral of forgotten revolutions, and scatter- 
ing in the palace and the market-place the seeds that 
shall ripen into fruit when the hand of the sower shall 
be dust, and his very name, perhaps, be lost ! For few, 
alas ! are they whose names may outlive the grave ; 
but the thoughts of every man who writes, are made 
undying ; — others appropriate, advance, exalt them ; 
and millions of minds unknown, undreamt of, are re- 
quired to produce the immortality of one ! 

Indulging meditations very different from those 
which the idea of Petrarch awakens in a later time, 
the Cavalier pursued his path. 

The valley was long left behind, and the way grew 
more and more faintly traced, until it terminated in a 
wood, through whose tangled boughs the sunlight 
broke playfully. At length, the wood opened into a 
wide glade, from which rose a precipitous ascent, 
crowned with the ruins of an old castle. The traveller 
dismounted, led his horse up the ascent, and, gaining 
the ruins, left his steed within one of the roofless cham- 
bers, overgrown with the longest grass and a profu- 
sion of wild shrubs.; thence ascending, with some toil, 
a narrow and broken staircase, he found himself in a 
small room, less decayed than the rest, of which the 
roof and floor were yet whole. 

Stretched on the ground in his cloak, and leaning 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 463 

his head thoughtfully on his hand, was a man of tall 
stature and middle age. He lifted himself on his arm 
with great alacrity as the Cavalier entered. 

“ Well, Brettone, I have counted the hours — what 
tidings?” 

“ Albornoz consents.” 

“ Glad news ! Thou givest me new life. Pardieu, 
I shall breakfast all the better for this, my brother. 
Hast thou remembered that I am famishing?” 

Brettone drew from beneath his cloak a sufficiently 
huge cask of wine, and a small panier, tolerably well 
filled ; the inmate of the tower threw himself upon the 
provant with great devotion. And both the soldiers, 
for such they were, stretched at length on the ground, 
regaled themselves with considerable zest, talking has- 
tily and familiarly between every mouthful. 

“ I say, Brettone, thou playest unfairly ; thou hast 
already devoured more than half the pasty: push it 
hitherward. And so the Cardinal consents! What 
manner of man is he? Able as they say?” 

“ Quick, sharp, and earnest, with an eye of fire, few 
words, and comes to the point.” 

“ Unlike a priest, then ; — a good brigand spoilt. 
What hast thou heard of the force he heads ? Ho, not 
so fast with the wine.” 

“ Scanty at present. — He relies on recruits through- 
out Italy.” 

u What his designs for Rome ? There, my brother, 
there tends my secret soul ! As for these petty towns 
and petty tyrants, I care not how they fall, or by whom. 
But the Pope must not return to Rome. Rome must 
be mine. The city of a new empire, the conquest of 
a new Attila! There, every circumstance combines 
in my favour ! — the absence of the Pope, the weakness 


RIENZI 


464 

of the middle class, the poverty of the populace, the 
imbecile though ferocious barbarism of the Barons, 
have long concurred to render Rome the most facile, 
while the most glorious conquest ! ” 

“ My brother, pray Heaven your ambition do not 
wreck you at last; you are ever losing sight of the 
land. Surely, with the immense wealth we are acquir- 
ing, we may ” 

“ Aspire to be something greater than Free Com- 
panions, generals to-day, and adventurers to-morrow. 
Rememberest thou, how the Norman sword won 
Sicily, and how the bastard William converted on the 
field of Hastings his baton into a sceptre. I tell thee, 
Brettone, that this loose Italy has crowns on the hedge 
that a dexterous hand may carry off at the point of 
the lance. My course is taken, I will form the fairest 
army in Italy, and with it I will win a throne in the 
Capitol. Fool that I was six years ago! — Instead of 
deputing that mad dolt Pepin of Minorbino, had I 
myself deserted the Hungarian, and repaired with my 
soldiery to Rome, the fall of Rienzi would have been 
followed by the rise of Montreal. Pepin was out- 
witted, and threw away the prey after he had hunted 
it down. The lion shall not again trust the chase to 
the jackal ! ” 

“ Walter, thou speakest of the fate of Rienzi, let it 
warn thee ! ” 

“ Rienzi ! ” replied Montreal ; “ I know the man ! In 
peaceful times, or with an honest people, he would 
have founded a great dynasty. But he dreamt of laws 
and liberty for men who despise the first and will not 
protect the last. We, of a harder race, know that a 
new throne must be built by the feudal and not the 
civil system ; and into the city we must transport the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 465 

camp. It is by the multitude that the proud Tribune 
gained power, — by the multitude he lost it; it is by 
the sword that I will win it, and by the sword will 
I keep it ! ” 

“ Rienzi was too cruel, he should not have incensed 
the Barons/’ said Brettone, about to finish the flask, 
when the strong hand of his brother plucked it from 
him, and anticipated the design. 

“ Pooh,” said Montreal, finishing the draught with 
a long sigh, “ he was not cruel enough. He sought 
only to be just, and not to distinguish between noble 
and peasant. He should have distinguished ! He 
should have exterminated the nobles root and branch. 
But this no Italian can do. This is reserved for me.” 

“ Thou wouldst not butcher all the best blood of 
Rome?” 

“ Butcher ! No, but I would seize their lands, and 
endow with them a new nobility, the hardy and fierce 
nobility of the North, who well know how to guard 
their prince, and will guard him, as the fountain of 
their own power. Enough of this now. And talking 
of Rienzi — rots he still in his dungeon ? ” 

“ Why, this morning, ere I left, I heard strange news. 
The town was astir, groups in every corner. They 
said that Rienzi’s trial was to be to-day, and from the 
names of the judges chosen, it is suspected that ac- 
quittal is already determined on.” 

“ Ha ! thou shouldst have told me of this before.” 

“ Should he be restored to Rome, would it militate 
against thy plans ? ” 

“ Humph ! I know not — deep thought and dexterous 
management would be needed. I would fain not leave 
this spot till I hear what is decided on.” 

“ Surely, Walter, it would have been wiser and safer 


30 


466 


RIENZI 


to have stayed with thy soldiery, and intrusted me with 
the absolute conduct of this affair.” 

“ Not so,” answered Montreal ; “ thou art a bold 

fellow enough, and a cunning , but my head in 

these matters is better than thine. Besides,” contin- 
ued the knight, lowering his voice, and shading his 
face, “ I had vowed a pilgrimage to the beloved river, 

and the old trysting-place. Ah me ! But all this, 

Brettone, thou understandest not — let it pass. As for 
my safety, since we have come to this amnesty with 
Albornoz, I fear but little danger even if discovered: 
besides, I want the florins. There are those in this 
country, Germans, who could eat an Italian army at a 
meal, whom I would fain engage, and their leaders 
want earnest-money — the griping knaves ! — How are 
the Cardinal’s florins to be paid ? ” 

“ Half now — half when thy troops are before Ri- 
mini ! ” 

“ Rimini ! the thought whets my sword. Remem- 
berest thou how that accursed Malatesta drove me 
from Aversa,* broke up my camp, and made me ren- 
der to him all my booty ? There fell the work of years ! 
But for that, my banner now would be floating over 
St. Angelo. I will pay back the debt with fire and 
sword, ere the summer has shed its leaves.” 

The fair countenance of Montreal grew terrible as 
he uttered these words; his hands griped the handle 
of his sword, and his strong frame heaved visibly; 
tokens of the fierce and unsparing passions, by the 

*This Malatesta, a signior of illustrious family, was one 
of the most skilful warriors in Italy. He and his brother 
Galeotto had been raised to the joint-tyranny of Rimini by 
the voice of its citizens. After being long the foes of the 
Church, they were ultimately named as its captains by the 
Cardinal Albornoz. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 467 

aid of which a life of rapine and revenge had cor- 
rupted a nature originally full no less of the mercy 
than the courage of Provencal chivalry. 

Such was the fearful man who now (the wildness 
of his youth sobered, and his ambition hardened and 
concentered) was the rival with Rienzi for the mastery 
of Rome. 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE CROWD. THE TRIAL. THE VERDICT. THE 

SOLDIER AND THE PAGE 

It was on the following evening that a considerable 
crowd had gathered in the streets of Avignon. It was 
the second day of the examination of Rienzi, and with 
every moment was expected the announcement of the 
verdict. Amongst the foreigners of all countries as- 
sembled in that seat of the Papal splendour, the in- 
terest was intense. The Italians, even of the highest 
rank, were in favour of the Tribune, the French 
against him. As for the good townspeople of Avi- 
gnon themselves, they felt but little excitement in any- 
thing that did not bring money into their pockets; 
and if it had been put to the secret vote, no doubt there 
would have been a vast majority for burning the pris- 
oner, as a marketable speculation ! 

Amongst the crowd was a tall man in a plain and 
rusty suit of armour, but with an air of knightly bear- 
ing, which somewhat belied the coarseness of his mail ; 
he wore no helmet, but a small morion of black leather, 
with a long projecting shade, much used by wayfarers 
in the hot climates of the south. A black patch cov- 
ered nearly the whole of one cheek, and altogether 


468 


RIENZI 


he bore the appearance of a grim soldier, with whom 
war had dealt harshly, both in purse and person. 

Many were the jests at the shabby swordsman’s ex- 
pense, with which that lively population amused their 
impatience ; and though the shade of the morion con- 
cealed his eyes, an arch and merry smile about the 
corners of his mouth showed that he could take a jest 
at himself. 

“ Well,” said one of the crowd (a rich Milanese), 
“ I am of a state that was free, and I trust the People’s 
man will have justice shown him.” 

“ Amen,” said a grave Florentine. 

“ They say,” whispered a young student frorp Paris, 
to a learned doctor of laws, with whom he abode, 
“ that his defence has been a masterpiece.” 

“ He hath taken no degrees,” replied the doctor, 
doubtingly. “ Ho, friend, why dost thou push me so ? 
thou hast rent my robe.” 

This was said to a minstrel, or jongleur, who, with 
a small lute slung round him, was making his way, 
with great earnestness, through the throng. 

“ I beg pardon, worthy sir,” said the minstrel ; “ but 
this is a scene to be sung of! Centuries hence — ay, 
and in lands remote — legend and song will tell the 
fortunes of Cola di Rienzi, the friend of Petrarch and 
the Tribune of Rome ! ” 

The young French student turned quickly round to 
the minstrel, with a glow on his pale face; not sharing 
the general sentiments of his countrymen against Ri- 
enzi, he felt that it was an era in the world when a 
minstrel spoke thus of the heroes of intellect — not of 
war. 

At this time the tall soldier was tapped impatiently 
on the back. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 469 

“ I pray thee, great sir,” said a sharp and imperious 
voice, “to withdraw that tall bulk of thine a little 
on one side — I cannot see through thee ; and I would 
fain my eyes were among the first to catch a glimpse 
of Rienzi as he passes from the court.” 

“ Fair Sir page,” replied the soldier, good-hu- 
mouredly, as he made way for Angelo Villani, “ thou 
wilt not always find that way in the world is won by 
commanding the strong. When thou art older thou 
wilt beard the weak, and the strong thou wilt wheedle.” 

“ I must change my nature, then,” answered Angelo 
(who was of somewhat small stature, and not yet come 
to his full growth), trying still to raise himself above 
the heads of the crowd. 

The soldier looked at him approvingly; and as he 
looked he sighed, and his lips worked with some 
strange emotion. 

“ Thou speakest well,” said he, after a pause. “ Par- 
don me the rudeness of the question; but art thou 
of Italy? — thy tongue savours of the Roman dialect; 
yet I have seen lineaments like thine on this side the 
Alps.” 

“ It may be, good fellow,” said the page haughtily ; 
“ but I thank Heaven that I am of Rome.” 

At this moment a loud shout burst from that part 
of the crowd nearest the court. The sound of trum- 
pets again hushed the throng into deep and breathless 
silence, while the Pope’s guards, ranged along the 
space conducting from the court, drew themselves up 
more erect, and fell a step or two back upon the 
crowd. 

As the trumpets ceased, the voice of a herald was 
heard, but it did not penetrate within several yards 
of the spot where Angelo and the soldier stood ; and 


470 


RIENZI 


it was only by a mighty shout that in a moment cir- 
cled through, and was echoed back by, the wide mul- 
titude — by the waving of kerchiefs from the windows 
— by broken ejaculations, which were caught up from 
lip to lip, that the page knew that Rienzi was ac- 
quitted. 

“ I would I could see his face ! ” sighed the page, 
querulously. 

“ And thou shalt,” said the soldier ; and he caught 
up the boy in his arms, and pressed on with the 
strength of a giant, parting the living stream from 
right to left, as he took his way to a place near the 
guards, and by which Rienzi was sure to pass. 

The page, half-pleased, half-indignant, struggled a 
little, but finding it in vain, consented tacitly to what 
he felt an outrage on his dignity. 

“ Never mind,” said the soldier, “ thou art the first 
I ever willingly raised above myself ; and I do it now 
for the sake of thy fair face, which reminds me of one 
I loved.” 

But these last words were spoken low, and the boy, 
in his anxiety to see the hero of Rome, did not hear 
or heed them. Presently Rienzi came by ; two gentle- 
men, of the Pope’s own following, walked by his side. 
He moved slowly, amidst the greetings and clamour 
of the crowd, looking neither to the right nor left. 
His bearing was firm and collected, and, save by the 
flush of his cheek, there was no external sign of joy 
or excitement. Flowers dropped from every balcony 
on his path : and just when he came to a broader 
space, where the ground was somewhat higher, and 
where he was in fuller view of the houses around, he 
paused — and, uncovering, acknowledged the homage 
he had received, with a look — a gesture — which each 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 471 

who beheld never forgot. It haunted even that gay 
and thoughtless court, when the last tale of Rienzi’s 
life reached their ears. And Angelo, clinging then 
round that soldier’s neck, recalled — but we must not 
anticipate. 

It was not, however, to the dark tower that Rienzi 
returned. His home was prepared at the palace of 
the Cardinal d’Albornoz. The next day he was ad- 
mitted to the Pope’s presence, and on the evening of 
that day he was proclaimed Senator of Rome. 

Meanwhile the soldier had placed Angelo on the 
ground ; and as the page faltered out no courteous 
thanks, he interrupted him in a sad and kind voice, 
the tone of which struck the page forcibly, so little 
did it suit the rough and homely appearance of the 
man. 

“ We part,” he said, “ as strangers, fair boy ; and 
since thou sayest thou art of Rome, there is no reason 
why my heart should have warmed to thee as it has 
done ; yet if ever thou wantest a friend, — seek him ” 
• — and the soldier’s voice sunk into a whisper — “ in 
Walter de Montreal.” 

Ere the page recovered his surprise at that redoubt- 
ed name, which his earliest childhood had been taught 
to dread, the Knight of St. John had vanished amongst 
the crowd. 


CHAPTER IX 

ALBORNOZ AND NINA 

But the eyes which, above all others, thirsted for a 
glimpse of the released captive were forbidden that 
delight. Alone in her chamber, Nina awaited the re- 


472 


RIENZI 


suit of the trial. She heard the shouts, the exclama- 
tions, the tramp of thousands along the street; she 
felt that the victory was won; and, her heart long 
overcharged, she burst into passionate tears. The re- 
turn of Angelo soon acquainted her with all that had 
passed; but it somewhat chilled her joy to find Rienzi 
was the guest of the dreaded Cardinal. That shock, 
in which certainty, however happy, replaces suspense, 
had so powerful an effect on her frame, joined to her 
loathing fear of a visit from the Cardinal, that she 
became for three days alarmingly ill ; and it was only 
on the fifth day from that which saw Rienzi endowed 
with the rank of Senator of Rome, that she was re- 
covered sufficiently to admit Albornoz to her presence. 

The Cardinal had sent daily to inquire after her 
health, and his inquiries, to her alarmed mind, had ap- 
peared to insinuate a pretension to the right to make 
them. Meanwhile Albornoz had had enough to divert 
and occupy his thoughts. Having bought off the for- 
midable Montreal from the service of John de Vico, 
one of the ablest and fiercest enemies of the Church, 
he resolved to march to the territories of that tyrant as 
expeditiously as possible, and so not to allow him time 
to obtain the assistance of any other band of the mer- 
cenary adventurers, who found Italy the market for 
their valour. Occupied with raising troops, procur- 
ing money, corresponding with the various free states, 
and establishing alliances in aid of his ulterior and 
more ambitious projects at the court of Avignon, the 
Cardinal waited with tolerable resignation the time 
when he might claim from the Signora Cesarini the 
reward to which he deemed himself entitled. Mean- 
while he had held his first conversations with Rienzi, 
and, under the semblance of courtesy to the acquitted 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 473 

Tribune, Albornoz had received him as his guest, in 
order to make himself master of the character and dis- 
position of one in whom he sought a minister and a 
tool. That miraculous and magic art, attested by the 
historians of the time, which Rienzi possessed over 
every one with whom he came into contact, however 
various in temper, station, or opinions, had not de- 
serted him in his interview with the Pontiff. So faith- 
fully had he described the true condition of Rome, so 
logically had he traced the causes and the remedies 
of the evils she endured, so sanguinely had he spoken 
of his own capacities for administering her affairs, and 
so brilliantly had he painted the prospects which that 
administration opened to the weal of the Church, and 
the interests of the Pope, that Innocent, though a keen 
and shrewd, and somewhat sceptical calculator of hu- 
man chances, was entirely fascinated by the eloquence 
of the Roman. 

“ Is this the man,” he is reported to have said, 
“ whom for twelve months we have treated as a pris- 
oner and a criminal? Would that it were on his 
shoulders only that the Christian empire reposed ! ” 

At the close of the interview he had, with every 
mark of favour and distinction, conferred upon Rienzi 
the rank of Senator, which, in fact, was that of Viceroy 
of Rome, and had willingly acceded to all the projects 
which the enterprising Rienzi had once more formed 
— not only for recovering the territories of the Church, 
but for extending the dictatorial sway of the Seven- 
hilled City, over the old dependencies of Italy. 

Albornoz, to whom the Pope retailed this conversa- 
tion, was somewhat jealous of the favour the new Sem 
ator had so suddenly acquired, and immediately on his 
return home sought an interview with his guest. In 


474 


RIENZI 


his heart, the Lord Cardinal, emphatically a man of 
action and business, regarded Rienzi as one rather 
cunning than wise — rather fortunate than great — a 
mixture of the pedant and the demagogue. But after 
a long and scrutinising conversation with the new Sen- 
ator, even he yielded to the spell of his enchanting and 
master intellect. Reluctantly Albornoz confessed to 
himself that Rienzi’s rise was not the thing of chance ; 
yet more reluctantly he perceived that the Senator was 
one whom he might treat with as an equal, but could 
not rule as a minion. And he entertained serious 
doubts whether it would be wise to reinstate him in 
a power which he evinced the capacity to wield and 
the genius to extend. Still, however, he did not re- 
pent the share he had taken in Rienzi’s acquittal. His 
presence in a camp so* thinly peopled was a matter 
greatly to be desired. And through his influence, the 
Cardinal more than ever trusted to enlist the Romans 
in favour of his enterprise for the recovery of the terri- 
tory of St. Peter ! 

Rienzi, who panted once more to behold his Nina, 
endeared to him by trial and absence, as by fresh 
bridals, was not however able to discover the name 
she had assumed at Avignon; and his residence with 
the Cardinal closely but respectfully watched as he 
was, forbade Nina all opportunity of corresponding 
with him. Some half bantering hints which Albornoz 
had dropped upon the interest taken in his welfare by 
the most celebrated beauty of Avignon, had filled him 
with a vague alarm which he trembled to acknowledge 
even to himself. But the volto sciolto * which, in com- 
mon with all Italian politicians, concealed whatever 

* Volto sciolto, pensieri stretti — the countenance open, the 
thoughts restrained. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 475 

were his pensieri stretti — enabled him to baffle com- 
pletely the jealous and lynxlike observation of the 
Cardinal. Nor had Alvarez been better enabled to 
satisfy the curiosity of his master. He had indeed 
sought the page Villani, but the imperious manner of 
that wayward and haughty boy had cut short all at- 
tempts at cross-examination. And all he could ascer- 
tain was, that the real Angelo Villani was not the An- 
gelo Villani who had visited Rienzi. 

Trusting at last that he should learn all, and inflamed 
by such passion and such hope as he was capable of 
feeling, Albornoz, now took his way to the Cesarini’s 
palace. 

He was ushered with due state into the apartment 
of the Signora. He found her pale, and with the 
traces of illness upon her noble and statue-like fea- 
tures. She rose as he entered ; and when he ap- 
proached, she half bent her knee, and raised his hand 
to her lips. Surprised and delighted at a reception so 
new, the Cardinal hastened to prevent the condescen- 
sion ; retaining both her hands, he attempted gently to 
draw them to his heart. 

“ Fairest ! ” he whispered, “ couldst thou know how 
I have mourned thy illness — and yet it has but left thee 
more lovely, as the rain only brightens the flower. 
Ah ! happy if I have promoted thy lightest wish, and 
if in thine eyes I may henceforth seek at once an angel 
to guide me and a paradise to reward.” 

Nina, releasing her hand, waved it gently, and mo- 
tioned the Cardinal to a seat. Seating herself at a lit- 
tle distance, she then spoke with great gravity and 
downcast eyes. 

“ My Lord, it is your intercession, joined to his own 
innocence, that has released from yonder tower the 


RIENZI 


476 

elected governor of the people of Rome. But free- 
dom is the least of the generous gifts that you have 
conferred ; there is a greater in a fair name vindicated, 
and rightful honours re-bestowed. For this, I rest 
ever your debtor ; for this, if I bear children, they shall 
be taught to bless your name; for this the historian 
who recalls the deeds of this age, and the fortunes of 
Cola di Rienzi, shall add a new chaplet to the wreaths 
you have already won. Lord Cardinal, I may have 
erred. I may have offended you — you may accuse me 
of woman’s artifice. Speak not, wonder not, hear me 
out. I have but one excuse, when I say that I held 
justified any means short of dishonour, to save the life 
and restore the fortunes of Cola di Rienzi. Know, my 
Lord, that she who now addresses you is his wife.” 

The Cardinal remained motionless and silent. But 
his sallow countenance grew flushed from the brow to 
the neck, and his thin lips quivered for a moment, and 
then broke into a withering and bitter smile. At 
length he rose from his seat, very slowly, and said, in 
a voice trembling with passion, 

“ It is well, madam. Giles d’Albornoz has been, 
then, a puppet in the hands, a stepping-stone in the 
rise, of the plebeian demagogue of Rome. You but 
played upon me for your own purposes ; and nothing 
short of a Cardinal of Spain, and a Prince of the royal 
blood of Aragon, was meet to be the instrument of a 
mountebank’s juggle ! Madam, yourself and your 

husband might justly be accused of ambition ” 

“ Cease, my Lord,” said Nina, with unspeakable 
dignity ; “ whatever offence has been committed 
against you was mine alone. Till after our last inter- 
view, Rienzi knew not even of my presence at Avi- 
gnon.” 


















































V 







































THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 477 

“ At our last interview, Lady, (you do well to recall 
it !) methinks there was a hinted and implied contract. 
I have fulfilled my part — I claim yours. Mark me ! I 
do not forego that claim. As easily as I rend this 
glove can I rend the parchment which proclaims thy 
husband ‘ the Senator of Rome/ The dungeon is not 
death, and its door will open twice.” 

“My Lord — my Lord ! ” cried. Nina, sick with ter- 
ror, “ wrong not so your noble nature, your great 
name, your sacred rank, your chivalric blood. You 
are of the knightly race of Spain, yours not the sullen, 
low, and inexorable vices that stain the petty tyrants 
of this unhappy land. You are no Visconti — no Cas- 
tracani — you cannot stain your laurels with revenge 
upon a woman. Hear me,” she continued, and she 
fell abruptly at his feet ; “ men dupe, deceive our sex 
— and for selfish purposes; they are pardoned — even 
by their victims. Did I deceive you with a false hope ? 
Well — what my object? — what my excuse? My hus- 
band’s liberty — my land’s salvation ! Woman, — my 
Lord, alas, your sex too rarely understand her weak- 
ness or her greatness ! Erring — all human as she is 
to others — God gifts her with a thousand virtues to the 
one she loves ! It is from that love that she alone 
drinks her nobler nature. For the hero of her wor- 
ship she has the meekness of the dove — the devotion 
of the saint; for his safety in peril, for his rescue in 
misfortune, her vain sense imbibes the sagacity of the 
serpent — her weak heart, the courage of the lioness ! 
It is this which, in absence, made me mask my face in 
smiles, that the friends of the houseless exile might not 
despair of his fate — it is this which brought me 
through forests beset with robbers, to watch the stars 
upon yon solitary tower — it was this which led my 


RIENZI 


478 

steps to the revels of your hated court — this which 
made me seek a deliverer in the noblest of its chiefs — 
it is this which has at last opened the dungeon door to 
the prisoner now within your halls ; and this, Lord 
Cardinal,” added Nina, rising, and folding her arms 
upon her heart — “ this, if your anger seeks a victim, 
will inspire me to die without a groan, — but without 
dishonour ! ” 

Albornoz remained rooted to the ground. Amaze- 
ment — emotion — admiration — all busy at his heart. 
He gazed at Nina’s flashing eyes and heaving bosom 
as a warrior of old upon a prophetess inspired. His 
eyes were riveted to hers as by a spell. He tried to 
speak, but his voice failed him. Nina continued : 

“ Yes, my Lord; these are no idle words! If you 
seek revenge, it is in your power. Undo what you 
have done. Give Rienzi back to the dungeon, or to 
disgrace, and you are avenged ; but not on him. All 
the hearts of Italy shall become to him a second Nina ! 
I am the guilty one, and I the sufferer. Hear me 
swear — in that instant which sees new wrong to Rienzi, 
this hand is my executioner. — My Lord, I supplicate 
you no longer ! ” 

Albornoz continued deeply moved. Nina but right- 
ly judged him, when she distinguished the aspiring 
Spaniard from the barbarous and unrelenting voluptu- 
aries of Italy. Despite the profligacy that stained his 
sacred robe — despite all the acquired and increasing 
callousness of a hard, scheming, and sceptical man, 
cast amidst the worst natures of the worst of times — 
there lingered yet in his soul much of the knightly 
honour of his race and country. High thoughts and 
daring spirits touched a congenial string in his heart, 
and not the less, in that he had but rarely met them in 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 479 

his experience of camps and courts. For the first time 
in his life, he felt that he had seen the woman who 
could have contented him even with wedlock, and 
taught him the proud and faithful love of which the 
minstrels of Spain had sung. He sighed, and still 
gazing on Nina, approached her, almost reverentially ; 
he knelt and kissed the hem of her robe. “ Lady/’ 
he said, “ I would I could believe that you have alto- 
gether read my nature aright, but I were indeed lost 
to all honour, and unworthy of gentle birth, if I still 
harboured a single thought against the peace and vir- 
tue of one like thee. Sweet heroine,” — he continued 
— “ so lovely, yet so pure — so haughty, and yet so 
soft — thou hast opened to me the brightest page these 
eyes have ever scanned in the blotted volume of man- 
kind. Mayest thou have such happiness as life can 
give ; but souls such as thine make their nest like the 
eagle, upon rocks and amidst the storms. Fear me no 
more — think of me no more — unless hereafter, when 
thou hearest men speak of Giles d’Albornoz, thou may- 
est say in thine own heart,” — and here the Cardinal’s 
lip curled with scorn — “ he did not renounce every 
feeling worthy of a man, when Ambition and Fate en- 
dued him with the surplice of the priest.” 

The Spaniard was gone before Nina could reply. 


BOOK VIII 

THE GRAND COMPANY 


“ Montreal nourrissoit de plus vastes projets . . . . il 

donnoit a sa campagnie un gouvernement regulier 

Par cette discipline il faisoit regner l’abondance dans son 
camp: les gens de guerre ne parloient, en Italie, que des 
richesses qu’on acqueroit a son service.” — Sismondi, Hist, 
des Republiques ltaliennes , tom. vi. c. 42. 

“ Montreal cherished more vast designs ... he sub- 
jected his company to a regular system of government. 
. . . . By means of this discipline he kept his camp abun- 
dantly supplied, and military adventurers in Italy talked of 
nothing but the wealth won in his service.” — Sismondi’s 
Hist, of Ital. Republics. 


CHAPTER I 

THE ENCAMPMENT 

It was a most lovely day, in the very glow and 
meridian of an Italian summer, when a small band of 
horsemen were seen winding a hill which commanded 
one of the fairest landscapes of Tuscany. At their 
head was a Cavalier in a complete suit of chain armour, 
the links of which were so fine, that they resembled 
a delicate and curious network, but so strongly com- 
pacted, that they would have resisted spear or sword 
no less effectually than the heaviest corselet, while 
adapting themselves exactly and with ease to every 
movement of the light and graceful shape of the rider. 
He wore a hat of dark green velvet shaded by long 
480 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 481 

plumes, while of two squires behind, the one bore his 
helmet and lance, the other led a strong war-horse, 
completely cased in plates of mail, which seemed, how- 
ever, scarcely to encumber its proud and agile paces. 
The countenance of the Cavalier was comely, but 
strongly marked, and darkened, by long exposure to 
the suns of many climes, to a deep bronze hue : a few 
raven ringlets escaped from beneath his hat down a 
cheek closely shaven. The expression of his features 
was grave and composed even to sadness; nor could 
all the loveliness of the unrivalled scene before him 
dispel the quiet and settled melancholy of his eyes. 
Besides the squire, ten horsemen, armed cap-a-pie, at- 
tended the knight; and the low and murmured con- 
versation they carried on at intervals, as well as their 
long fair hair, large stature, thick short beards, and the 
studied and accurate equipment of their arms and 
steeds, bespoke them of a hardier and more warlike 
race than the children of the south. The cavalcade 
was closed with a man almost of gigantic height, bear- 
ing a banner richly decorated, wherein was wrought 
a column, with the inscript : on, “ Alone amidst 
ruins.” Fair indeed was the prospect which with 
every step expanded yet more widely its various 
beauty. Right before stretched a long vale, now cov- 
ered with green woodlands glittering in the yellow 
sunlight, now opening into narrow plains bordered by 
hillocks, from whose mosses of all hues grew fantastic 
and odorous shrubs ; while, winding amidst them, a 
broad and silver stream broke into light at frequent 
intervals, snatched by wood and hillock from the eye, 
only to steal upon it again, in sudden and bright sur- 
prise. The opposite slope of gentle mountains, as well 
as that which the horsemen now descended, was cov- 


31 


4§2 


RIENZI 


ered with vineyards, trained in alleys and arcades : and 
the clustering grape laughed from every leafy and 
glossy covert, as gaily as when the Fauns held a holy- 
day in the shade. The eye of the Cavalier roved list- 
lessly over this enchanting prospect, sleeping in the 
rosiest light of a Tuscan heaven, and then became 
fixed with a more earnest attention on the gray and 
frowning walls of a distant castle, which, high upon 
the steepest of the opposite mountains, overlooked the 
valley. 

“ Behold,” he muttered to himself, “ how every 
Eden in Italy hath its curse ! Wherever the land 
smiles fairest, be sure to find the brigand’s tent and 
the tyrant’s castle ! ” 

Scarce had these thoughts passed his mind, ere the 
shrill and sudden blast of a bugle that sounded close 
amongst the vineyards by the side of the path, startled 
the whole group. The cavalcade halted abruptly. 
The leader made a gesture to the squire who led his 
war-horse. The noble and practised animal remained 
perfectly still, save by champing its bit restlessly, and 
moving its quick ear to and fro, as aware of a com- 
ing danger, — while the squire, unencumbered by the 
heavy armour of the Germans, plunged into the 
thicket and disappeared. He returned in a few min- 
utes, already heated and breathless. 

“We must be on our guard,” he whispered; “ I see 
the glimmer of steel through the vine leaves.” 

“ Our ground is unhappily chosen,” said the Knight, 
hastily bracing on his helmet and leaping on his 
charger; and waving his hand towards a broader 
space in the road, which would permit the horse- 
men more room to act in union, with his small 
band he made hastily to the spot — the armour of 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 483 

the soldiers rattling heavily as two by two they pro- 
ceeded on. 

The space to which the Cavalier had pointed was 
a green semicircle of several yards in extent, backed 
by tangled copses of brushwood sloping down to the 
vale below. They reached it in safety; they drew up 
breast to breast in the form of a crescent : every visor 
closed save that of the Knight, who looked anxiously 
and keenly round the landscape. 

“ Hast thou heard, Giulio,” he said, to his favourite 
squire, (the only Italian of the band,) “ whether any 
brigands have been seen lately in these parts ? ” 

“ No, my Lord ; on the contrary, I am told that 
every lance hath left the country to join the Grand 
Company of Fra Moreale. The love of his pay and 
plunder has drawn away the mercenaries of every Tus- 
can Signor.” 

As he ceased speaking, the bugle sounded again 
from nearly the same spot as before ; it was answered 
by a brief and martial note from the very rear of the 
horsemen. At the same moment, from the thickets 
behind, broke the gleam of mail and spears. One 
after another, rank after rank, from the copse behind 
them, emerged men-at-arms, while suddenly, from the 
vines in front, still greater numbers poured forth with 
loud and fierce shouts. 

“ For God, for the Emperor, and for the Colonna! ” 
cried the Knight, closing his visor; and the little band, 
closely serried, the lance in every rest, broke upon the 
rush of the enemy in front. A score or so, borne to 
the ground by the charge, cleared a path for the horse- 
men, and, without waiting the assault of the rest, the 
Knight wheeled his charger and led the way down the 
hill, almost at full gallop, despite the roughness of 


4B4 


RIENZI 


the descent: a flight of arrows despatched after them 
fell idly on their iron mail. 

“ If they have no horse,” cried the Knight, “ we 
are saved ! ” 

And, indeed, the enemy seemed scarcely to think 
of pursuing them ; but (gathered on the brow of a hill) 
appeared contented to watch their flight. 

Suddenly a curve in the road brought them before 
a broad and white patch of waste land, which formed 
almost a level surface, interrupting the descent of the 
mountain. On the commencement of this waste, 
drawn up in still array, the sunlight broke on the 
breastplates of a long line of horsemen, whom the 
sinuosities of the road had hitherto concealed from the 
Knight and his party. 

The little troop halted abruptly — retreat — advance 
alike cut off; gazing first at the foe before them, that 
remained still as a cloud, every eye was then turned 
towards the Knight. 

“ An thou wouldst, my Lord,” said the leader of 
the Northmen, perceiving the irresolution of their 
chief, “we will fight to the last. You are the only 
Italian I ever knew whom I would willingly die 
for!” 

This rude profession was received with a sympa- 
thetic murmur from the rest, and the soldiers drew 
closer around the Knight. “ Nay, my brave fellows,” 
said the Colonna, lifting his visor, “ it is not in so 
inglorious a field, after such various fortunes, that we 
are doomed to perish. If these be brigands, as we 
must suppose, we can yet purchase our way. If the 
troops of some signor, we are strangers to the feud 
in which he is engaged. Give me yon banner — I will 
ride on to them.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 485 

“ Nay, my Lord,” said Giulio ; “ such marauders 
do not always spare a flag of truce. There is dan- 
ger ” 

“ For that reason your leader braves it. Quick ! ” 

The Knight took the banner, and rode deliberately 
up to the horsemen. On approaching, his warlike eye 
could not but admire the perfect caparison of their 
arms, the strength and beauty of their steeds, and the 
steady discipline of their long and glittering line. 

As he rode up, and his gorgeous banner gleamed 
in the pioonlight, the soldiers saluted him. It was a 
good omen, and he hailed it as such. “ Fair sirs,” 
said the Knight, “ I come, at once herald and leader of 
the little band who have just escaped the unlooked-for 
assault of armed men on yonder hill — and, claiming 
aid, as knight from knight, and soldier from soldier, 
I place my troop under the protection of your leader. 
Suffer me to see him.” 

“ Sir Knight,” answered one, who seemed the cap- 
tain of the band, “ sorry am I to detain one of your 
gallant bearing, and still more so, on recognising the 
device of one of the most potent housed of Italy. But 
our orders are strict, and we must bring all armed men 
to the camp of our General.” 

“ Long absent from my native land, I knew not,” 
replied the Knight, “ that there was war in Tuscany. 
Permit me to crave the name of the General whom 
you speak of, and that of the foe against whom ye 
march.” 

The Captain smiled slightly. 

“ Walter de Montreal is the General of the Grand 
Company, and Florence his present foe.” 

“ We have fallen, then, into friendly, if fierce, 
hands,” replied the Knight, after a moment’s pause. 


RIENZI 


486 

“ To Sir Walter de Montreal I am known of old. Per- 
mit me to return to my companions, and acquaint 
them that if accident has made us prisoners, it is, at 
least, only to the most skilful warrior of his day that 
we are condemned to yield.” 

The Italian then turned his horse to join his com- 
rades. 

“ A fair knight and a bold presence,” said the Cap- 
tain of the Companions to his neighbour, “ though I 
scarce think it is the party we are ordered to inter- 
cept. Praised be the Virgin, however, his men seem 
from the North. Them, perhaps, we may hope to 
enlist.” 

The Knight now, with his comrades, rejoined the 
troop. And, on receiving their parole not to attempt 
escape, a detachment of thirty horsemen were des- 
patched to conduct the prisoners to the encampment 
of the Grand Company. 

Turning from the main road, the Knight found him- 
self conducted into a narrow defile between the hills, 
which, succeeded by a gloomy track of wild forest- 
land, brought the party at length into a full and abrupt 
view of a wide plain, covered with the tents of what, 
for Italian warfare, was considered a mighty army. 
A stream, over which rude and hasty bridges had been 
formed from the neighbouring timber, alone separated 
the horsemen from the encampment. 

“ A noble sight ! ” said the captive Cavalier, with 
enthusiasm, as he reined in his steed, and gazed upon 
the wild and warlike streets of canvas, traversing each 
other in vistas broad and regular. 

One of the captains of the Grand Company who 
rode beside him, smiled complacently. 

“ There are few masters of the martial art who equal 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 487 

Fra Moreale,” said he ; “ and savage, reckless, and 
gathered from all parts and all countries — from cavern 
and from market-place, from prison and from palace, 
as are his troops, he has reduced them already into a 
discipline which might shame even the soldiery of the 
Empire.” 

The Knight made no reply ; but, spurring his horse 
over one of the rugged bridges, soon found himself 
amidst the encampment. But that part at which he 
entered, little merited the praises bestowed upon the 
discipline of the army. A more unruly and disorderly 
array, the Cavalier, accustomed to the stern regularity 
of English, French, and German discipline, thought 
he had never beheld : here and there, fierce, unshaven, 
half-naked brigands might be seen, driving before 
them the cattle which they had just collected by pred- 
atory excursions. Sometimes a knot of dissolute 
women stood — chattering, scolding, gesticulating — 
collected round groups of wild shagged Northmen, 
who, despite the bright purity of the summer-noon, 
were already engaged in deep potations. Oaths and 
laughter, and drunken merriment, and fierce brawl, 
rang from side to side ; and ever and anon some hasty 
conflict with drawn knives was begun and finished by 
the fiery and savage bravoes of Calabria or the Apen- 
nines, before the very eyes and almost in the very 
path of the troop. Tumblers, and mountebanks, and 
jugglers, and Jew pedlers, were exhibiting their tricks 
or their wares at every interval, apparently well inured 
to the lawless and turbulent market in which they ex- 
ercised their several callings. Despite the protection 
of the horsemen who accompanied them, the prisoners 
were not allowed to pass without molestation. Groups 
of urchins, squalid, fierce, and ragged, seemed to start 


488 


RIENZI 


from the ground, and surrounded their horses like 
swarms of bees, uttering the most discordant cries; 
and, with the gestures of savages, rather demanding 
than beseeching money, which, when granted, seemed 
only to render them more insatiable. While, some- 
times mingled with the rest, were seen the bright eyes 
and olive cheek, and half-pleading, half-laughing smile 
of girls, whose extreme youth, scarce emerged from 
childhood, rendered doubly striking their utter and un- 
redeemed abandonment. 

“ You did not exaggerate the decorum of the Grand 
Company ! ” cried the Knight, gravely, to his new ac- 
quaintance. 

“ Signor,” replied the other, “ you must not judge 
of the kernel by the shell. We are scarcely yet ar- 
rived at the camp. These are the outskirts, occupied 
rather by the rabble than the soldiers. Twenty thou- 
sand men from the sink, it must be owned, of every 
town in Italy, follow the camp, to fight if necessary, 
but rather for plunder, and for forage : — such you now 
behold. Presently, you will see those of another 
stamp.” 

The Knight’s heart swelled high. “ And to such 
men is Italy given up ! ” thought he. His reverie was 
broken by a loud burst of applause from some convi- 
vialists hard by. He turned, and under a long tent, 
and round a board covered with wine and viands, sate 
some thirty or forty bravoes. A ragged minstrel, or 
jongleur, with an immense beard and mustachios, was 
tuning, with no inconsiderable skill, a lute which had 
accompanied him in all his wanderings — and suddenly 
changing its notes into a wild and warlike melody, he 
commenced in a loud and deep voice the following 
song 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 489 


THE PRAISE OF THE GRAND COMPANY 

1 

Ho, dark one from the golden South, — 

Ho, fair one from the North; 

Ho, coat of mail and spear of sheen — 

Ho, wherefore ride ye forth? 

“We come from mount, we come from cave, 
We Come across the sea. 

In long array, in bright array, 

To Montreal’s Companie.” 

Oh, the merry, merry band, 

Light heart, and heavy hand — 

Oh, the Lances of the Free! 

2 

Ho, Princes of the castled height — 

Ho, burghers of the town; 

Apulia’s strength, Romagna’s pride, 

And Tusca’s old renown! 

Why quail ye thus? why pale ye thus? 

What spectre do ye see? 

“ The blood-red flag, and trampling march 
Of Montreal’s Companie.” 

Oh, the sunshine of your life — 

Oh, the thunders of your strife! 

Wild Lances of the Free! 

3 

Ho, scutcheons o’er the vaulted tomb 
Where Norman valour sleeps, 

Why shake ye so? why quake ye so? 

What wind the trophy sweeps? 

“ We shake without a breath — below, 

The dead are stirred to see, 

The Norman’s fame revived again 
In Montreal’s Companie.” 

Since Roger won his crown, 

Who hath equalled your renown, 

Brave Lances of the Free? 


490 


RIENZI 


4 

Ho, ye who seek to win a name, 

Where deeds are bravest done — 

Ho, ye who wish to pile a heap, 

Where gold is lightest won; 

Ho, ye who loathe the stagnant life, 

Or shun the law’s decree, 

Belt on the brand, and spur the steed, 

To Montreal’s Companie. 

And the maid shall share her rest. 

And the miser share his chest, 

With the Lances of the Free! 

The Free! 

The Free! 

Oh! the Lances of the Free! 

Then suddenly, as if inspired to a wilder flight by 
his own minstrelsy, the jongleur, sweeping his hand 
over the chords, broke forth into an air admirably ex- 
pressive of the picture which his words, running into 
a rude, but lively and stirring doggerel, attempted to 
paint. 

THE MARCH OF THE GRAND COMPANY 
Tira, tirala — trumpet and drum — 

Rising bright o’er the height of the mountain they come! 
German, and Hun, and the Islandrie, 

Who routed the Frenchman at famed Cressie, 

When the rose changed its hue with the fleur-de-lis ; 

With the Roman, and Lombard, and Piedmontese, 

And the dark-haired son of the southern seas. 

Tira, tirala — more near and near 

Down the steep — see them sweep; — rank by rank they appear! 
With the Cloud of the Crowd hanging dark at their rear — 
Serried, and steadied, and orderlie, 

Like the course — like the force — of a marching sea! 

Open your gates and out with your gold, 

For the blood must be spilt, or the ransom be told! 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 491 

Woe, Burghers, woe! Behold them led 
By the stoutest arm and the wisest head, 

With the snow-white cross on the cloth of red; — 

With the eagle eye, and the lion port, 

His barb for a throne, and his camp for a court: 
Sovereign and scourge of the land is he — 

The kingly Knight of the Companie! 

Hurrah — hurrah — hurrah ! 

Hurrah for the army — hurrah for its lord — 

Hurrah for the gold that is got by the sword — 

Hurrah — hurrah — hurrah ! 

For the Lances of the Free! 

Shouted by the full chorus of those desperate boon- 
companions, and caught up and re-echoed from side 
to side, near and far, as the familiar and well-known 
words of the burthen reached the ears of more distant 
groups or stragglers, the effect of this fierce and licen- 
tious minstrelsy was indescribable. It was impossible 
not to feel the zest which that daring life imparted to 
its daring followers, and even the gallant and stately 
Knight who listened to it, reproved himself for an in- 
voluntary thrill of sympathy and pleasure. 

He turned with some impatience and irritation to 
his companion, who had taken a part in the chorus, 
and said, “ Sir, to the ears of an Italian noble, con- 
scious of the miseries of his country, this ditty is not 
welcome. I pray you, let us proceed.” 

“ I humbly crave your pardon, Signor,” said the 
Free Companion ; “ but really so attractive is the life 
led by Free Lances, under Fra Moreale, that some- 
times we forget the ; but pardon me, we will on.” 

A few moments more, and bounding over a narrow 
circumvallation, the party found themselves in a quar- 
ter, animated indeed, but of a wholly different charac- 
ter of animation. Long lines of armed men were 


49 2 


RIENZI 


drawn up on either side of a path, conducting to a 
large marquee, placed upon a little hillock, surmounted 
by a blue flag, and up this path armed soldiers were 
passing to and fro with great order, but with a pleased 
and complacent expression upon their swarthy fea- 
tures. Some that repaired to the marquee were bear- 
ing packets and bales upon their shoulders — those that 
returned seemed to have got rid of their burthens, 
but every now and then, impatiently opening their 
hands, appeared counting and recounting to them- 
selves the coins contained therein. 

The Knight looked inquiringly at his companion. 

“ It is the marquee of the merchants,” said the cap- 
tain ; “ they have free admission to the camp, and their 
property and persons are rigidly respected. They pur- 
chase each soldier’s share of the plunder at fair prices, 
and either party is contented with the bargain.” 

“ It seems, then, that there is some kind of rude 
justice observed amongst you,” said the Knight. 

“Rude! Diavolo! Not a town in Italy but would 
be glad of such even justice, and such impartial laws. 
Yonder lie the tents of the judges, appointed to try all 
offences of soldier against soldier. To the right, the 
tent with the golden ball contains the treasurer of 
the army. Fra Moreale incurs no arrears with his 
soldiery.” 

It was, indeed, by these means that the Knight of 
St. John had collected the best equipped and the best 
contented force in Italy. Every day brought him re- 
cruits. Nothing was spoken of amongst the mercena- 
ries of Italy but the wealth acquired in his service, 
and every warrior in the pay of Republic or of Tyrant 
sighed for the lawless standard of Fra Moreale. 
Already had exaggerated tales of the fortunes to be 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 493 

made in the ranks of the Great Company passed the 
Alps; and, even now, the Knight, penetrating farther 
into the camp, beheld from many a tent the proud 
banners and armorial blazon of German nobility and 
Gallic knighthood. 

“ You see,” said the Free Companion, pointing to 
these insignia, “ we are not without our different ranks 
in our wild city. And while we speak, many a golden 
spur is speeding hitherward from the North! ” 

All now in the quarter they had entered was still, 
and solemn ; only afar came the mingled hum, or the 
sudden shout of the pandemonium in the rear, mel- 
lowed by distance to a not unpleasing sound. An oc- 
casional soldier, crossing their path, stalked silently 
and stealthily to some neighbouring tent, and seemed 
scarcely to regard their approach. 

“ Behold ! we are before the General’s pavilion,” 
said the Free Lance. 

Blazoned with purple and gold, the tent of Montreal 
lay a little apart from the rest. A brooklet from the 
stream they had crossed murmured gratefully on the 
ear, and a tall and wide-spreading beech cast its 
shadow over the gorgeous canvas. 

While his troop waited without, the Knight was con- 
ducted at once to the presence of the formidable ad- 
venturer. 


• CHAPTER II 

ADRIAN ONCE MORE THE GUEST OF MONTREAL 

Montreal was sitting at the head of a table, sur- 
rounded by men, some military, some civil, whom he 
called his councillors, and with whom he apparently 


RIENZI 


496 

Our marches are forced and rapid, and our camp in 
this plain but just pitched.” 

“ I hear that the Grand Company is. allied with Al- 
bornoz, and that its General is secretly the soldier of 
the Church. Is it so ? ” 

“ Ay — Albornoz and I understand one another,” re- 
plied Montreal, carelessly ; “ and not the less so that 
we have a mutual foe, whom both are sworn to crush, 
in Visconti, the archbishop of Milan.” 

“Visconti! the most potent of the Italian princes. 
That he has justly incurred the wrath of the Church 
I know — and I can readily understand that Innocent 
has revoked the pardon which the intrigues of the 
Archbishop purchased from Clement VI. But I do 
not See clearly why Montreal should willingly provoke 
so dark and terrible a foe.” 

Montreal smiled sternly. “ Know you not,” he 
said, “ the vast ambition of that Visconti ? By the 
Holy Sepulchre, he is precisely the enemy my soul 
leaps to meet ! He has a genius worthy to cope with 
Montreal's. I have made myself master of his secret 
plans — they are gigantic ! In a word, the Archbishop 
designs the conquest of all Italy. His enormous 
wealth purchases the corrupt — his dark sagacity en- 
snares the credulous — his daring valour awes the weak. 
Every enemy he humbles — every ally he enslaves. 
This is precisely the Prince whose progress Walter 
de Montreal must arrest. For this ” (he said in a 
whisper as to himself) “ is precisely the Prince who, if 
suffered to extend his power, will frustrate the plans 
and break the force of Walter de Montreal.” 

Adrian was silent, and for the first time a suspicion 
of the real nature of the Provencal’s designs crossed his 
breast. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 497 

“ But, noble Montreal,” resumed the Colonna, 
“ give me, if your knowledge serves, as no doubt it 
does, — give me the latest tidings of my native city. I 
am Roman, and Rome is ever in my thoughts.” 

“ And well she may,” replied Montreal, quickly. 
“ Thou knowest that Albornoz, as Legate of the Pon- 
tiff, led the army of the Church into the Papal Terri- 
tories. He took with him Cola di Rienzi. Arrived 
at Monte Fiascone, crowds of Romans of all ranks 
hastened thither to render homage to the Tribune. 
The Legate was forgotten in the popularity of his com- 
panion. Whether or not Albornoz grew jealous — 
for he is proud as Lucifer — of the respect paid to the 
Tribune, or whether he feared the restoration of his 
power, I cannot tell. But he detained him in his camp, 
and refused to yield him to all the solicitations and all 
the deputations of the Romans. Artfully, however, he 
fulfilled one of the real objects of Rienzi’s release. 
Through his means he formally regained the allegiance 
of Rome to the Church, and by the attraction of his 
presence swelled his camp with Roman recruits. 
Marching to Viterbo, Rienzi distinguished himself 
greatly in deeds of arms against the tyrant* John di 
Vico. Nay, he fought as one worthy of belonging to 
the Grand Company. This increased the zeal of the 
Romans ; and the city disgorged half its inhabitants to 
attend the person of the bold Tribune. To the en- 
treaties of these worthy citizens (perhaps the very men 
who had before shut up their darling in St. Angelo) 
the crafty Legate merely replied, ‘ Arm against John 
di Vico — conquer the tyrants of the Territory — re- 
establish the patrimony of St. Peter, and Rienzi shall 
then be proclaimed Senator, and return to Rome/ 

* Vit. di Col. di Rienzi. 


32 


498 


RIENZI 


“ These words inspired the Romans with so great 
a zeal, that they willingly lent their aid to the Legate. 
Aquapendente, Bolzena yielded, John di Vico was half 
reduced and half terrified into submission, and Gabri- 
elli, the tyrant of Agobbio, has since succumbed. The 
glory is to the Cardinal, but the merit with Rienzi.” 

“ And now?” 

“ Albornoz continued to entertain the Senator-Trib- 
une with great splendour and fair words, but not a 
word about restoring him to Rome. Wearied with 
this suspense, I have learned by secret intelligence 
that Rienzi has left the camp, and betaken himself with 
a few attendants to Florence, where he has friends, 
who will provide him with arms and money to enter 
Rome.” 

“ Ah then ! now I guess,” said Adrian, with a half 
smile, “ for whom I was mistaken ! ” 

Montreal blushed slightly. “Fairly conjectured!” 
said he. 

“ Meanwhile, at Rome,” continued the Provengal — 
“ at Rome, your worthy House, and that of the Orsini, 
being elected to the supreme power, quarrelled among 
themselves, and could not keep the authority they had 
won. Francesco Baroncelli,* a new demagogue, a 

* This Baroncelli, who has been introduced to the reader 
in a former portion of this work, is called by Matteo Villani 
“ a man of vile birth and little learning — he had been a 
Notary of the Capitol. ,, 

In the midst of the armed dissensions between the Barons, 
which followed the expulsion of Rienzi, Baroncelli contrived 
to make himself Master of the Capitol, and of what was con- 
sidered an auxiliary of no common importance — viz. the 
Great Bell, by whose alarum Rienzi had so often summoned 
to arms the Roman people. Baroncelli was crowned Trib- 
une, clothed in a robe of gold brocade, and invested with 
the crozier-sceptre of Rienzi. At first, his cruelty against 
the great took the appearance of protection to the humble; 
but the excesses of his sons (not exaggerated in the text), 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 499 

humble imitator of Rienzi, rose upon the ruins of the 
peace broken by the nobles, obtained the title of Trib- 
une, and carried about the very insignia used by his 
predecessor. But less wise than Rienzi, he took the 
antipapal party. And the Legate was thus enabled 
to play the papal demagogue against the usurper. 
Baroncelli was a weak man, his sons committed every 
excess in mimicry of the high-born tyrants of Padua 
and Milan. Virgins violated and matrons dishon- 
oured, somewhat contrasted the solemn and majestic 
decorum of Rienzi’s rule ; — in fine, Baroncelli fell, 
massacred by the people. And now, if you ask what 
rules Rome, I answer, ‘ It is the hope of Rienzi.’ ” 

“A strange man, and various fortunes. What will 
be the end of both ! ” 

“ Swift murder to the first, and eternal fame to the 
last,” answered Montreal, calmly. “ Rienzi will be 
restored ; that brave phoenix will wing its way through 
storm and cloud to its own funereal pyre : I foresee, 
I compassionate, I admire. — And then,” added Mon- 
treal, “ I look beyond! ” 

“ But wherefore feel you so certain that, if restored, 
Rienzi must fall ? ” 

“ Is it not clear to every eye, save his, whom am- 

and his own brutal but bold ferocity, soon made him exe- 
crated by the people, to whom he owed his elevation. He 
had the folly to declare against the Pope; and this it really 
was that mainly induced Innocent to restore, and oppose to 
their New Demagogue, the former and more illustrious Trib- 
une. Baroncelli, like Rienzi, was excommunicated; and in 
his instance, also, the curse of the Church was the immediate 
cause of his downfall. In attempting flight he was massacred 
by the mob, December, 1353. Some, however, have main- 
tained that he was slain in combat with Rienzi; and others, 
by a confusion of dates, have made him succeed to Rienzi on 
the death of the latter .— Matteo Villani, lib. iii. cap. 78. 
Osservaz. Stor. di Zefirino Re. MS. Vat. Rip. dal Bzovio, ann. 
1353 . N. 2. 


500 


RIENZI 


bition blinds ? How can mortal genius, however great, 
rule that most depraved people by popular means? 
The Barons — (you know their indomitable ferocity) — 
wedded to abuse, and loathing every semblance to 
law ; the Barons, humbled for a moment, will watch 
their occasion, and rise. The people will again desert. 
Or else, grown wise in one respect by experience, the 
new Senator will see that popular favour has a loud 
voice, but a recreant arm. He will, like the Barons, 
surround himself by foreign swords. A detachment 
from the Grand Company will be his courtiers ; they 
will be his masters ! To pay them the people must 
be taxed. Then the idol is execrated. No Italian 
hand can govern these hardy demons of the north ; 
they will mutiny and fall away. A new demagogue 
will lead on the people, and Rienzi will be the vic- 
tim. Mark my prophecy ! ” 

“ And then the ‘ beyond ’ to which you look ? ” 

“ Utter prostration of Rome, for new and long ages ; 
God makes not two Rienzis ; or,” said Montreal, proud- 
ly, “ the infusion of a new life into the worn-out and 
diseased frame, — the foundation of a new dynasty. 
Verily, when I look around me, I believe that the 
Ruler of nations designs the restoration of the South 
by the irruptions of the North; and that out of the 
old Franc and Germanic race will be built up the 
thrones of the future world ! ” 

As Montreal thus spoke, leaning on his great war- 
sword, with his fair and heroic features — so different, 
in their frank, bold, fearless expression, from the dark 
and wily intellect that characterises the lineaments of 
the South — eloquent at once with enthusiasm and 
thought — he might have seemed no unfitting repre- 
sentative of the genius of that northern chivalry of 


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THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 

which he spake. And Adrian half fancied that he saw 
before him one of the old Gothic scourges of the 
Western World. 

Their conversation was here interrupted by the 
sound of a trumpet, and presently an officer entering, 
announced the arrival of ambassadors from Florence. 

“ Again you must pardon me, noble Adrian/’ said 
Montreal, “ and let me claim you as my guest at least 
for to-night. Here you may rest secure, and on part- 
ing, my men shall attend you to the frontiers of what- 
soever territory you design to visit.” 

Adrian, not sorry to see more of a man so cele- 
brated, accepted the invitation. 

Left alone, he leaned his head upon his hand, and 
soon became lost in his reflections. 


CHAPTER III 

FAITHFUL AND ILL-FATED LOVE. THE ASPIRATIONS 

SURVIVE THE AFFECTIONS 

Since that fearful hour in which Adrian Colonna 
had gazed upon the lifeless form of his adored Irene, 
the young Roman had undergone the usual vicissi- 
tudes of a wandering and adventurous life in those 
exciting times. His country seemed no longer dear 
to him. His very rank precluded him from the post 
he once aspired to take in restoring the liberties of 
Rome ; and he felt that if ever such a revolution could 
be consummated, it was reserved for one in whose 
birth and habits the people could feel sympathy and 
kindred, and who could lift his hand in their behalf 
without becoming the apostate of his order and the 


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judge of his own House. He had travelled through 
various courts, and served with renown in various 
fields. Beloved and honoured wheresoever he fixed 
a temporary home, no change of scene had removed 
his melancholy — no new ties had chased away the 
memory of the Lost. In that era of passionate and 
poetical romance, which Petrarch represented rather 
than created, Love had already begun to assume a 
more tender and sacred character than it had hitherto 
known, it had gradually imbibed the divine spirit which 
it derives from Christianity, and which associates its 
sorrows on earth with the visions and hopes of heaven. 
To him who relies upon immortality, fidelity to the 
dead is easy; because death cannot extinguish hope, 
and the soul of the mourner is already half in the 
world to come. It is an age that desponds of a future 
life — representing death as an eternal separation — in 
which, if men grieve awhile for the dead, they hasten 
to reconcile themselves to the living. For true is the 
old aphorism, that love exists not without hope. And 
all that romantic worship which the Hermit of Vau- 
cluse felt, or feigned, for Laura, found its temple in 
the desolate heart of Adrian Colonna. He was em- 
phatically the Lover of his time! Often as, in his pil- 
grimage from land to land, he passed the walls of 
some quiet and lonely convent, he seriously meditated 
the solemn vows, and internally resolved that the 
cloister should receive his maturer age. The absence 
of years had, however, in some degree restored the 
dimmed and shattered affection for his fatherland, and 
he desired once more to visit the city in which he 
had first beheld Irene. “ Perhaps,” he thought, “ time 
may have wrought some unlooked-for change; and I 
may yet assist to restore my country.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 503 


But with this lingering patriotism no ambition was 
mingled. In that heated stage of action, in which the 
desire of power seemed to stir through every breast, 
and Italy had become the El Dorado of wealth, or the 
Utopia of empire, to thousands of valiant arms and 
plotting minds, there was at least one breast that felt 
the true philosophy of the Hermit. Adrian’s nature, 
though gallant and masculine, was singularly imbued 
with that elegance of temperament which recoils from 
rude contact, and to which a lettered and cultivated 
indolence is the supremest luxury. His education, his 
experience, and his intellect, had placed him far in 
advance of his age, and he looked with a high con- 
tempt on the coarse villanies and base tricks by which 
Italian ambition sought its road to power. The rise 
and fall of Rienzi, who, whatever his failings, was at 
least the purest and most honourable of the self-raised 
princes of the age, had conspired to make him despond 
of the success of noble, as he recoiled from that 
of selfish aspirations. And the dreamy melancholy 
which resulted from his ill-starred love, yet more 
tended to wean him from the stale and hackneyed pur- 
suits of the world. His character was full of beauty 
and of poetry — not the less so in that it found not a 
vent for its emotions in the actual occupation of the 
poet! Pent within, those emotions diffused them- 
selves over all his thoughts and coloured his whole 
soul. Sometimes, in the blessed abstraction of his 
visions, he pictured to himself the lot he might have 
chosen had Irene lived, and fate united them — far from 
the turbulent and vulgar roar of Rome — but amidst 
some yet unpolluted solitude of the bright Italian soil. 
Before his eye there rose the lovely landscape— the 
palace by the borders of the waveless lake— the vine- 


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yards in the valley — the dark forests waving from the 
hill — and that home, the resort and refuge of all the 
minstrelsy and love of Italy, brightened by the “ Lam- 
peggiar dell’ angelico riso,” * that makes a paradise 
in the face we love. Often, seduced by such dreams 
to complete oblivion of his loss, the young wanderer 
started from the ideal bliss, to behold around him the 
solitary waste of way — or the moonlit tents of war — 
or, worse than all, the crowds and revels of a foreign 
court. 

Whether or not such fancies now, for a moment, 
allured his meditations, conjured up, perhaps, by the 
name of Irene’s brother, which never sounded in his 
ears but to awaken ten thousand associations, the 
Colonna remained thoughtful and absorbed, until he 
was disturbed by his own squire, who, accompanied 
by Montreal’s servitors, ushered in his solitary but 
ample repast. Flasks of the richest Florentine wines 
— viands prepared with all the art which, alas, Italy 
has now lost! — goblets and salvers of gold and silver, 
prodigally wrought with barbaric gems — attested the 
princely luxury which reigned in the camp of the 
Grand Company. But Adrian saw in all only the spo- 
liation of his degraded country, and felt the splendour 
almost as an insult. His lonely meal soon concluded, 
he became impatient of the monotony of his tent ; and, 
tempted by the cool air of the descending eve, saun- 
tered carelessly forth. He bent his steps by the side 
of the brooklet that curved, snakelike and sparkling, 
by Montreal’s tent ; and finding a spot somewhat soli- 
tary and apart from the warlike tenements around, 
flung himself by the margin of the stream. 

The last rays of the sun quivered on the wave that 
* “ The splendour of the angel smile/’ — Petrarch. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 505 


danced musically over its stony bed; and amidst a 
little copse on the opposite bank broke the brief and 
momentary song of such of the bolder inhabitants 
of that purple air as the din of the camp had not scared 
from their green retreat. The clouds lay motionless 
to the west, in that sky so darkly and intensely blue, 
never seen but over the landscapes that a Claude or a 
Rosa loved to paint: and dim and delicious rose-hues 
gathered over the gray peaks of the distant Apennines. 
From afar floated the hum of the camp, broken by the 
neigh of returning steeds ; the blast of an occasional 
bugle ; and, at regular intervals, by the armed tramp 
of the neighbouring sentry. And opposite to the left 
of the copse — upon a rising ground, matted with reeds, 
moss, and waving shrubs — were the ruins of some old 
Etruscan building, whose name had perished, whose 
very uses were unknown. 

The scene was so calm and lovely, as Adrian gazed 
upon it, that it was scarcely possible to imagine it at 
that very hour the haunt of fierce and banded robbers, 
among most of whom the very soul of man was em- 
bruted, and to all of whom murder or rapine made 
the habitual occupation of life. 

Still buried in his reveries, and carelessly dropping 
stones into the noisy rivulet, Adrian was aroused by 
the sound of steps. 

“ A fair spot to listen to the lute and the ballads 
of Provence,” said the voice of Montreal, as the 
Knight of St. John threw himself on the turf beside 
the young Colonna. 

“ You retain, then, your ancient love of your national 
melodies,” said Adrian. 

“ Ay, I have not yet survived all my youth,” an- 
swered Montreal, with a slight sigh. “ But somehow 


506 


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or other, the strains that once pleased my fancy now 
go too directly to my heart. So, though I still wel- 
come jongleur and minstrel, I bid them sing their 
newest conceits. I cannot wish ever again to hear 
the poetry I heard when I was young!” 

“ Pardon me,” said Adrian, with great interest, “ but 
fain would I have dared, though a secret apprehen- 
sion prevented me hitherto, — fain would I have dared 
to question you of that lovely lady, with whom, seven 
years ago, we gazed at moonlight upon the odorous 
orange-groves and rosy waters of Terracina.” 

Montreal turned away his face ; he laid his hand on 
Adrian’s arm, and murmured, in a deep and hoarse 
tone, “ I am alone now ! ” 

Adrian pressed his hand in silence. He felt no light 
shock at thus learning the death of one so gentle, so 
lovely, and so ill-fated. 

“ The vows of my knighthood,” continued Montreal, 
“ which precluded Adeline the rights of wedlock — the 
shame of her house — the angry grief of her mother — 
the wild vicissitudes of my life, so exposed to peril 
— the loss of her son — all preyed silently on her frame. 
She did not die (die is too harsh a word !), but she 
drooped away, and glided into heaven. Even as on 
a summer’s morn some soft dream fleets across us, 
growing less and less distinct, until it fades, as it were, 
into light, and we awaken — so faded Adeline’s parting 
spirit, till the daylight of God broke upon it.” 

Montreal paused a moment, and then resumed : 
“ These thoughts make the boldest of us weak some- 
times, and we Provencals are foolish in these matters ! 
— God wot, she was very dear to me ! ” 

The Knight bent down and crossed himself devout- 
ly, his lips muttered a prayer. Strange as it may seem 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 507 

to our more enlightened age, so martial a garb did 
morality then wear, that this man, at whose word towns 
had blazed and torrents of blood had flowed, neither 
adjudged himself, nor was adjudged by the majority 
of his contemporaries, a criminal. His order, half 
monastic, half warlike, was emblematic of himself. He 
trampled upon man, yet humbled himself to God ; nor 
had all his acquaintance with the refining scepticism 
of Italy shaken the sturdy and simple faith of the bold 
Provengal. So far from recognising any want of har- 
mony between his calling and his creed, he held that 
man no true chevalier who was not as devout to the 
Cross as relentless with the sword. 

“ And you have no child save the one you lost ? ” 
asked Adrian, when he observed the wonted compo- 
sure of Montreal once more returning. 

“ None ! ” said Montreal, as his brow again dark- 
ened. “ No love-begotten heir of mine will succeed 
to the fortunes I trust yet to build. Never on earth 
shall I see upon the face of her child the likeness of 
Adeline! Yet, at Avignon, I saw a boy I would have 
claimed ; for methought she must have looked her soul 
into his eyes, they were so like hers! Well, well! 
the Provence tree hath other branches : and some un- 
born nephew must be — what ? The stars have not yet 
decided ! But ambition is now the only thing in the 
world left me to love.” 

“ So differently operates the same misfortune upon 
different characters,” thought the Colonna. “ To me, 
crowns became valueless when I could no longer 
dream of placing them on Irene’s brow ! ” 

The similarity of their fates, however, attracted 
Adrian strongly towards his host ; and the two Knights 
conversed together with more friendship and unre- 


RIENZI 


508 

serve than they had hitherto done. At length Mon- 
treal said, “ By the way, I have not inquired your 
destination.” 

“ I am bound to Rome,” said Adrian : “ and the in- 
telligence I have learned from you incites me thither- 
ward yet more eagerly. If Rienzi return, I may medi- 
ate successfully, perchance, between the Tribune-Sen- 
ator and the nobles; and if I find my cousin, young 
Stefanello, now the head of our house, more tractable 
than his sires, I shall not despair of conciliating the 
less powerful Barons. Rome wants repose ; and who- 
ever governs, if he govern but w r ith justice, ought to 
be supported both by prince and plebeian ! ” 

Montreal listened with great attention, and then 
muttered to himself, “ No, it cannot be ! ” He mused 
a little while, shading his brow with his hand, before 
he said aloud, “ To Rome you are bound. Well, we 
shall meet soon amidst its ruins. Know, by the way, 
that my object here is already won : these Florentine 
merchants have acceded to my terms ; they have pur- 
chased a two years' peace ; to-morrow the camp breaks 
up, and the Grand Company march to Lombardy. 
There, if my schemes prosper, and the Venetians pay 
my price, I league the rascals (under Landau, my Lieu- 
tenant) with the Sea-City, in defiance of the Visconti, 
and shall pass my autumn in peace amidst the pomps 
of Rome.” 

“ Sir Walter de Montreal,” said Adrian, “ your 
frankness perhaps makes me presumptuous ; but when 
I hear you talk, like a huxtering trader, of selling 
alike your friendship and your forbearance, I ask my- 
self ‘ Is this the great Knight of St. John ; and have 
men spoken of him fairly, when they assert the sole 
stain on his laurels to be his avarice ? ’ ” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 509 

Montreal bit his lips; nevertheless, he answered 
calmly, “ My frankness has brought its own penance, 
Lord Adrian. However, I cannot wholly leave so 
honoured a guest under an impression which I feel to 
be plausible, but not just. No, brave Colonna; re- 
port wrongs me. I value Gold, for Gold is the Archi- 
tect of Power! It fills the camp — it storms the city 
— it buys the market-place — it raises the palace — it 
founds the throne. I value Gold, — it is the means 
necessary to my end ! ” 

“ And that end ” 

“ Is — no matter what,” said the Knight coldly. 
“ Let us to our tents, the dews fall heavily, and the 
malaria floats over these houseless wastes.” 

The pair rose ; — yet, fascinated by the beauty of the 
hour, they lingered for a moment by the brook. The 
earliest stars shone over its crisping wavelets, and a 
delicious breeze murmured gently amidst the glossy 
herbage. 

“ Thus gazing,” said Montreal, softly, “ we reverse 
the old Medusan fable the poets tell us of, and look 
and muse ourselves out of stone. A little while, and 
it was the sunlight that gilded the wave — it now shines 
as brightly and glides as gaily beneath the stars; even 
so rolls the stream of time : one luminary succeeds 
the other equally welcomed — equally illumining — 
equally evanescent! — You see, the poetry of Provence 
still lives beneath my mail ! ” 

Adrian early sought his couch ; but his own thoughts 
and the sounds of loud mirth that broke from Mon- 
treal’s tent, where the chief feasted the captains of his 
band, a revel from which he had the delicacy to excuse 
the Roman noble, kept the Colonna long awake ; and 
he had scarcely fallen into an unquiet slumber, when 


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yet more discordant sounds again invaded his repose. 
At the earliest dawn the wide armament was astir — 
the creaking of cordage — the tramp of men — loud or- 
ders and louder oaths — the slow rolling of baggage- 
wains — and the clank of the armourers, announced 
the removal of the camp, and the approaching depar- 
ture of the Grand Company. 

Ere Adrian was yet attired, Montreal entered his 
tent. 

“ I have appointed,” he said, “ five score lances un- 
der a trusty leader, to accompany you, noble Adrian, 
to the borders of Romagna; they wait your leisure. 
In another hour I depart; the on-guard are already 
in motion.” 

Adrian would fain have declined the proffered es- 
cort; but he saw that it would only offend the pride 
of the chief, who soon retired. Hastily Adrian en- 
dued his arms — the air of the fresh morning, and the 
glad sun rising gorgeously from the hills, revived his 
wearied spirit. He repaired to Montreal’s tent, and 
found him alone, with the implements of writing be- 
fore him, and a triumphant smile upon his counte- 
nance. 

“ Fortune showers new favours on me ! ” he said 
gaily. “ Yesterday the Florentines spared me the 
trouble of a siege : and to-day (even since I last saw 
you — a few minutes since) puts your new Senator of 
Rome into my power ! ” 

“ How! have your bands then arrested Rienzi?” 

“ Not so — better still ! The Tribune changed his 
plan, and repaired to Perugia, where my brothers now 
abide — sought them — they have supplied him with 
money and soldiers enough to brave the perils of the 
way, and to defy the swords of the Barons. So writes 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


5i 


my good brother Arimbaldo, a man of letters, whom 
the Tribune thinks rightly he has decoyed with old 
tales of Roman greatness, and mighty promises of 
grateful advancement. You find me hastily expressing 
my content at the arrangement. My brothers them- 
selves will accompany the Senator-Tribune to the walls 
of the Capitol. ,, 

“ Still, I see not how this places Rienzi in your 
power.” 

“No! His soldiers are my creatures — his com- 
rades my brothers — his creditor myself ! Let him rule 
Rome then — the time soon comes when the Vice- 
Regent must yield to ” 

“ The Chief of the Grand Company,” interrupted 
Adrian, with a shudder, which the bold Montreal was 
too engrossed with the unconcealed excitement of his 
own thoughts to notice. “ No, Knight of Provence, 
basely have we succumbed to domestic tyrants : but 
never, I trust, will Romans be so vile as to wear the 
yoke of a foreign usurper.” 

Montreal looked hard at Adrian, and smiled sternly. 

“You mistake me,” said he; “and it will be time 
enough for you to play the Brutus when I assume 
the Caesar. Meanwhile we are but host and guest. 
Let us change the theme.” 

Nevertheless this, their latter conference, threw a 
chill over both during the short time the Knights re- 
mained together, and they parted with a formality 
which was ill-suited to their friendly intercourse of 
the night before. Montreal felt he had incautiously 
revealed himself, but caution was no part of his charac- 
ter, whenever he found himself at the head of an army, 
and at the full tide of fortune ; and at that moment, 
30 confident was he of the success of his wildest 


512 


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schemes, that he recked little whom he offended, or 
whom alarmed. 

Slowly, with his strange and ferocious escort, Adrian 
renewed his way. Winding up a steep ascent that led 
from the plain, — when he reached the summit, the 
curve in the road showed him the whole army on its 
march ; — the gonfalons waving — the armour flashing 
in the sun, line after line, like a river of steel, and 
the whole plain bristling with the array of that moving 
war; — while the solemn tread of the armed thousands 
fell subdued and stifled at times by martial and exult- 
ing music. As they swept on, Adrian descried at 
length the stately and towering form of Montreal upon 
a black charger, distinguished even at that distance 
from the rest, not more by his gorgeous armour than 
his lofty stature. So swept he on in the pride of his 
array — in the flush of his hopes — the head of a mighty 
armament — the terror of Italy — the hero that was — 
the monarch that might be I 


BOOK IX 

THE RETURN 


Allora la sua venuta fu a Roma sentita; Romani si ap- 
parecchiavano a riceverlo con letizia . . . furo fatti archi 
trionfali,” &c., &c . — Vita di Cola di Rienzi, lib. ii. c. 17. 

Then the fame of his coming was felt at Rome; the Romans 
made ready to receive him with gladness . . . triumphal 
arches were erected,” & c., &c . — Life of Cola di Rienzi. 


CHAPTER I 

THE TRIUMPHAL ENTRANCE 

All Rome was astir! — from St. Angelo to the Cap- 
itol, windows, balconies, roofs, were crowded with 
animated thousands. Only here and there, in the sul- 
len quarters of the Colonna, the Orsini, and the 
Savelli, reigned a death-like solitude and a dreary 
gloom. In those fortifications, rather than streets, not 
even the accustomed tread of the barbarian sentinel 
was heard. The gates closed — the casements barred 
— the grim silence around — attested the absence of the 
Barons. They had left the city so soon as they had 
learned the certain approach of Rienzi. In the villages 
and castles of the Campagna, surrounded by their mer- 
cenaries, they awaited the hour when the people, weary 
of their idol, should welcome back even those fero- 
cious Iconoclasts. 

With these exceptions, all Rome was astir! Tri- 

513 


33 


RIENZI 


5H 

umphal arches of drapery, wrought with gold and sil- 
ver, raised at every principal vista, were inscribed with 
mottoes of welcome and rejoicing. At frequent inter- 
vals stood youths and maidens, with baskets of flow- 
ers and laurels. High above the assembled multitudes 
— from the proud tower of Hadrian — from the turrets 
of the Capitol — from the spires of the sacred buildings 
dedicated to Apostle and to Saint — floated banners as 
for a victory. Rome once more opened her arms to 
receive her Tribune ! 

Mingled with the crowd — disguised by his large 
mantle — hidden by the pressure of the throng — his 
person, indeed, forgotten by most — and, in the con- 
fusion of the moment heeded by none — stood Adrian 
Colonna ! He had not been able to conquer his in- 
terest for the brother of Irene. Solitary amidst his 
fellow-citizens, he stood — the only one of the proud 
race of Colonna who witnessed the triumph of the 
darling of the people. 

“ They say he has grown large in his prison/’ said 
one of the bystanders ; “ he was lean enough when 
he came by daybreak out of the Church of St. An- 
gelo ! ” 

“ Ay,” said another, a little man with a shrewd, 
restless eye, “ they say truly ; I saw him take leave 
of the Legate.” 

Every eye was turned to the last speaker; he be- 
came at once a personage of importance. “ Yes,” con- 
tinued the little man with an elated and pompous air, 
“ as soon, d’ye see, as he had prevailed on Messere 
Brettone, and Messere Arimbaldo, the brothers of Fra 
Moreale, to accompany him from Perugia to Monte 
Fiascone, he went at once to the Legate d’Albornoz, 
who was standing in the open air conversing with his 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 515 

captains. A crowd followed. I was one of them ; 
and the Tribune nodded at me — ay, that did he ! — and 
so, with his scarlet cloak, and his scarlet cap, he faced 
the proud Cardinal with a pride greater than his own. 
‘ Monsignore, ’ said he, 4 though you accord me neither 
money nor arms, to meet the dangers of the road and 
brave the ambush of the Barons, I am prepared to 
depart. Senator of Rome, his Holiness hath made 
me: according to custom, I pray you, Monsignore, 
forthwith to confirm the rank.’ I would you could 
have seen how the proud Spaniard stared, and blushed, 
and frowned ; but he bit his lip, and said little.” 

“And confirmed Rienzi Senator?” 

“Yes; and blessed him, and bade him depart.” 

“ Senator ! ” said a stalwart but gray-haired giant 
with folded arms ; “ I like not a title that has been 
borne by a patrician. I fear me, in the new title he 
will forget the old.” 

“ Fie, Cecco del Vecchio, you were always a 
grumbler ! ” said a merchant of cloth, whose com- 
modity the ceremonial had put in great request. “ Fie ! 
— for my part, I think Senator a less new-fangled title 
than Tribune. I hope there will be feasting enow, 
at last. Rome has been long dull. A bad time for 
trade, I warrant me ! ” 

The artisan grinned scornfully. He was one of 
those who distinguished between the middle class and 
the working, and he loathed a merchant as much as 
he did a noble. “ The day wears,” said the little man ; 
“ he must be here anon. The Senator’s lady, and all 
his train, have gone forth to meet him these two 
hours.” 

Scarce were these words uttered, when the crowd 
to the right swayed restlessly ; and presently a horse- 


5 i6 


RIENZI 


man rode rapidly through the street. “ Way there ! 
Keep back ! Way — make way for the Most Illustrious 
the Senator of Rome ! ” 

The crowd became hushed — then murmuring — then 
hushed again. From balcony and casement stretched 
the neck of every gazer. The tramp of steeds was 
heard at a distance — the sound of clarion and trum- 
pet ; — then, gleaming through the distant curve of the 
streets, was seen the wave of the gonfalons — then, the 
glitter of spears — and then from the whole multitude, 
as from one voice, arose the shout, — “ He comes ! he 
comes ! ” 

Adrian shrunk yet more backward amongst the 
throng; and, leaning against the wall of one of the 
houses, contemplated the approaching pageant. 

First came six abreast, the procession of Roman 
horsemen who had gone forth to meet the Senator, 
bearing boughs of olive in their hands ; each hundred 
preceded by banners, inscribed with the words, “ Lib- 
erty and Peace restored.” As these passed the group 
by Adrian, each more popular citizen of the cavalcade 
was recognised, and received with loud shouts. By 
the garb and equipment of the horsemen, Adrian saw 
that they belonged chiefly to the traders of Rome ; a 
race who, he well knew, unless strangely altered, val- 
ued liberty, only as a commercial speculation. “ A 
vain support these,” thought the Colonna ; — “ what 
next ? ” On, then, came in glittering armour the Ger- 
man mercenaries, hired by the gold of the Brothers 
of Provence, in number two hundred and fifty, and 
previously in the pay of Malatesta of Rimini ; — tall, 
stern, sedate, disciplined, — eyeing the crowd with a 
look, half of barbarian wonder, half of insolent disdain. 
No shout of gratulation welcomed these sturdy stran- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 517 

gers ; it was evident that their aspect cast a chill over 
the Assembly. 

“ Shame ! ” growled Cecco del Vecchio, audibly. 
“ Has the people’s friend need of the swords which 
guard an Orsini or a Malatesta ? — shame ! ” 

No voice this time silenced the huge malcontent. 

“ His only real defence against the Barons,” thought 
Adrian, “ if he pay them well ! But their number is 
not sufficient ! ” 

Next came two hundred fantassins, or foot-soldiers, 
of Tuscany, with the corselets and arms of the heavy- 
armed soldiery — a gallant company, and whose cheer- 
ful looks and familiar bearing appeared to sympathise 
with the crowd. And in truth they did so, — for they 
were Tuscans, and therefore lovers of freedom. In 
them, too, the Romans seemed to recognise natural 
and legitimate allies, — and there was a general cry of 
“ Vivano i bravi Toscani ! ” 

“ Poor defence ! ” thought the more sagacious Co- 
lonna ; “ the Barons can awe, and the mob corrupt 
them.” 

Next came a file of trumpeters and standard-bearers ; 
— and now the sound of the music was drowned by 
shouts, which seemed to rise simultaneously as from 
every quarter of the city; — “Rienzi! Rienzi! — Wel- 
come, welcome ! — Liberty and Rienzi ! Rienzi and 
the Good Estate ! ” Flowers dropped on his path, 
kerchiefs and banners waved from every house ; — 
tears might be seen coursing, unheeded, down bearded 
cheeks ; — youth and age were kneeling together, with 
uplifted hands, invoking blessings on the head of the 
Restored. On he came, the Senator-Tribune — “ the 
Phoenix to his pyre! ” 

Robed in scarlet that literally blazed with gold, his 


RIENZI 


518 

proud head bared in the sun, and bending to the saddle 
bow, Rienzi passed slowly through the throng. Not 
in the flush of that hour were visible on his glorious 
countenance, the signs of disease and care : the very 
enlargement of his proportions gave a greater maj- 
esty to his mien. Hope sparkled in his eye — triumph 
and empire sat upon his brow. The crowd could not 
contain themselves ; they pressed forward, each upon 
each, anxious to catch the glance of his eye, to touch 
the hem of his robe. He himself was deeply affected 
by their joy. He halted; with faltering and broken 
words, he attempted to address them. “ I am repaid,” 
he said, — “ repaid for all ; — may I live to make you 
happy ! ” 

The crowd parted again — the Senator moved on — 
again the crowd closed in. Behind the Tribune, to 
their excited imagination, seemed to move the very 
goddess of ancient Rome. 

Upon a steed, caparisoned with cloth of gold ; — in 
snow-white robes, studded with gems that flashed back 
the day, — came the beautiful and regal Nina. The 
memory of her pride, her ostentation, all forgotten in 
that moment, she was scarce less welcome, scarce less 
idolised, than her lord. And her smile all radiant 
with joy — her lip quivering with proud and elate emo- 
tion — never had she seemed at once so born alike for 
love and for command ; — a Zenobia passing through 
the pomp of Rome, — not a captive, but a queen. 

But not upon that stately form riveted the gaze of 
Adrian — pale, breathless, trembling, he clung to the 
walls against which he leaned. Was it a dream? Had 
the dead revived? Or was it his own — his living 
Irene — whose soft and melancholy loveliness shone 
sadly by the side of Nina — a star beside the moon? 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 519 

The pageant faded from his eyes — all grew dim and 
dark. For a moment he was insensible. When he 
recovered, the crowd was hurrying along, confused 
and blent with the mighty stream that followed the 
procession. Through the moving multitude he caught 
the graceful form of Irene, again snatched by the 
closing standards of the procession from his view. 
His blood rushed back from his heart through every 
vein. He was as a man who for years had been in a 
fearful trance, and who is suddenly awakened to the 
light of heaven. 

One of that mighty throng remained motionless 
with Adrian. It was Cecco del Vecchio. 

“He did not see me ,” muttered the smith to himself; 
“old friends are forgotten now! Well, well, Cecco del 
Vecchio hates tyrants still — no matter what their 
name, nor how smoothly they are disguised. He did 
not see me ! Umph ! ” 


CHAPTER II 

THE MASQUERADE 

The acuter reader has already learned, without the 
absolute intervention of the author as narrator, the 
incidents occurring to Rienzi in the interval between 
his acquittal at Avignon and his return to Rome. As 
the impression made by Nina upon the softer and bet- 
ter nature of Albornoz died away, he naturally began 
to consider his guest — as the profound politicians of 
that day ever considered men — a piece upon the great 
Chess-board, to be moved, advanced, or sacrificed, as 
best suited the scheme in view. His purpose accom- 


RIENZI 


520 

plished, in the recovery of the patrimonial territory, 
the submission of John di Vico, and the fall and death 
of the Demagogue Baroncelli, the Cardinal deemed 
it far from advisable to restore to Rome, and with so 
high a dignity, the able and ambitious Rienzi. Before 
the daring Roman, even his own great spirit quailed ; 
and he was wholly unable to conceive or to calculate 
the policy that might be adopted by the new Senator, 
when once more Lord of Rome. Without affecting 
to detain, he therefore declined to assist in restoring 
him. And Rienzi thus saw himself within an easy 
march of Rome, without one soldier to protect him 
against the Barons by the way. But Heaven had de- 
creed that no single man, however gifted, or however 
powerful, should long counteract or master the desti- 
nies of Rienzi : and perhaps in no more glittering scene 
of his life did he ever evince so dexterous and subtle 
an intellect as he now did in extricating himself from 
the wiles of the Cardinal. Repairing to Perugia, he 
had, as we have seen, procured, through the brothers 
of Montreal, men and money for his return. But the 
Knight of St. John was greatly mistaken, if he imag- 
ined that Rienzi was not thoroughly aware of the 
perilous and treacherous tenure of the support he had 
received. His keen eye read at a glance the aims and 
the characters of the brothers of Montreal — he knew 
that while affecting to serve him, they designed to 
control — that, made the debtor of the grasping and 
aspiring Montreal, and surrounded by the troops con- 
ducted by Montreal’s brethren, he was in the midst 
of a net which, if not broken, would soon involve for- 
tune and life itself in its fatal and deadly meshes. But, 
confident in the resources and promptitude of his own 
genius, he yet sanguinely trusted to make those his 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 521 


puppets, who dreamed that he was their own ; and, 
with empire for the stake, he cared not how crafty 
the antagonists he was compelled to engage. 

Meanwhile, uniting to all his rasher and all his 
nobler qualities, a profound dissimulation, he appeared 
to trust implicitly to his Provenqal companions ; and 
his first act on -entering the Capitol, after the triumphal 
procession, was to reward with the highest dignities 
in his gift, Messere Arimbaldo and Messere Brettone 
de Montreal ! 

High feasting was there that night in the halls of 
the Capitol ; but dearer to Rienzi than all the pomp 
of the day, were the smiles of Nina. Her proud and 
admiring eyes, swimming with delicious tears, fixed 
upon his countenance, she but felt that they were re- 
united, and that the hours, however brilliantly illu- 
mined, were hastening to that moment, when, after 
so desolate and dark an absence, they might once 
more be alone. 

Far other the thoughts of Adrian Colonna, as he 
sate alone in the dreary palace in the yet more dreary 
quarter of his haughty race. Irene then was alive, — 
he had been deceived by some strange error, — she had 
escaped the devouring pestilence; and something in 
the pale sadness of her gentle features, even in that 
day of triumph, told him he was still remembered. But 
as his mind by degrees calmed itself from its first wild 
and tumultuous rapture, he could not help asking him- 
self the question whether they were not still to be 
divided ! Stefanello Colonna, the grandson of the old 
Stephen, and (by the death of his sire and brother) 
the youthful head of that powerful House, had already 
raised his standard against the Senator. Fortifying 
himself in the almost impregnable fastness of Pales- 


522 


RIENZI 


trina, he had assembled around him all the retainers of 
his family, and his lawless soldiery now ravaged the 
neighbouring plains far and wide. 

Adrian foresaw that the lapse of a few days would 
suffice to bring the Colonna and the Senator to open 
war. Could he take part against those of his own 
blood? The very circumstance of his love for Irene 
would yet more rob such a proceeding of all appear- 
ance of disinterested patriotism, and yet more deeply 
and irremediably stain his knightly fame, wherever 
the sympathy of his equals was enlisted with the cause 
of the Colonna. On the other hand, not only his love 
for the Senator’s sister, but his own secret inclinations 
and honest convictions, were on the side of one who 
alone seemed to him possessed of the desire and the 
genius to repress the disorders of his fallen city. Long 
meditating, he feared no alternative was left him but 
in the same cruel neutrality to which he had been be- 
fore condemned ; but he resolved at least to make the 
attempt — rendered favourable and dignified by his 
birth and reputation — to reconcile the contending 
parties. To effect this, he saw that he must begin with 
his haughty cousin. He was well aware that were 
it known that he had first obtained an interview with 
Rienzi — did it appear as if he were charged with over- 
tures from the Senator — although Stefanello himself 
might be inclined to yield to his representations, the 
insolent and ferocious Barons who surrounded him 
would not deign to listen to the envoy of the People’s 
chosen one ; and instead of being honoured as an in- 
tercessor, he should be suspected as a traitor. He 
determined, then, to depart for Palestrina; but (and his 
heart beat audibly) would it not be possible first to 
obtain an interview with Irene? It was no easy en- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 523 

terprise, surrounded as she was, but he resolved to 
adventure it. He summoned Giulio. 

“ The Senator holds a festival this evening — think 
you that the assemblage will be numerous ? ” 

“ I hear,” answered Giulio, “ that the banquet given 
to the Ambassadors and Signors to-day is to be fol- 
lowed to-morrow by a mask, to which all ranks are 
admitted. By Bacchus,* if the Tribune only invited 
nobles, the smallest closet in the Capitol would suf- 
fice to receive his maskers. I suppose a mask has 
been resolved on in order to disguise the quality of the 
visitors.” 

Adrian mused a moment; and the result of his 
reverie was a determination to delay for another sun 
his departure to Palestrina — to take advantage of the 
nature of the revel, and to join the masquerade. 

That species of entertainment, though unusual at 
that season of the year, had been preferred by Rienzi, 
partly and ostensibly because it was one in which all 
his numerous and motley supporters could be best re- 
ceived ; but chiefly and secretly because it afforded 
himself and his confidential friends the occasion to mix 
unsuspected amongst the throng, and learn more of 
the real anticipations of the Romans with respect to 
his policy and his strength, than could well be gath- 
ered from the enthusiasm of a public spectacle. 

The following night was beautifully serene and 
clear. The better to accommodate the numerous 
guests, and to take advantage of the warm and moonlit 
freshness of the air, the open court of the Capitol, with 
the Place of the Lion, (as well as the state apartments 
within,) was devoted to the festival. 

As Adrian entered the festive court with the rush 
* Still a common Roman expletive. 


524 


RIENZI 


of the throng, it chanced that in the eager impatience 
of some maskers, more vehement than the rest, his 
vizard was deranged. He hastily replaced it ; but not 
before one of the guests had recognised his counte- 
nance. 

From courtesy, Rienzi and his family remained at 
first unmasked. They stood at the head of the stairs 
to which the old Egyptian Lion gave the name. The 
lights shone over that Colossal Monument — which, 
torn from its antique home, had witnessed, in its grim 
repose, the rise and lapse of countless generations, 
and the dark and stormy revolutions of avenging fate. 
It was an ill omen, often afterwards remarked, that the 
place of that state festival was the place also of the 
state executions. But at that moment, as group after 
group pressed forward to win smile and word from 
the celebrated man, whose fortunes had been the 
theme of Europe, or to bend in homage to the lustrous 
loveliness of Nina, no omen and no warning clouded 
the universal gladness. 

Behind Nina, well contented to shrink from the gaze 
of the throng, and to feel her softer beauty eclipsed 
by the dazzling and gorgeous charms of her brother’s 
wife, stood Irene. Amidst the crowd, on her alone 
Adrian fixed his eyes. The years which had flown 
over the fair brow of the girl of sixteen — then an- 
imated by, yet trembling beneath, the first wild breath 
of Love; — youth in every vein — passion and childish 
tenderness in every thought, had not marred, but they 
had changed, the character of Irene’s beauty. Her 
cheek, no longer varying with every instant, was set- 
tled into a delicate and thoughtful paleness — her form, 
more rounded to the proportions of Roman beauty, 
had assumed an air of dignified and calm repose. No 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 525 

longer did the restless eye wander in search of some 
imagined object; no longer did the lip quiver into 
smiles at some untold hope or half-unconscious recol- 
lection. A grave and mournful expression gave to 
her face (still how sweet !) a gravity beyond her years. 
The bloom, the flush, the April of the heart, was gone ; 
but yet neither time, nor sorrow, nor blighted love, 
had stolen from her countenance its rare and angelic 
softness — nor that inexpressible and virgin modesty of 
form and aspect, which, contrasting the bolder beau- 
ties of Italy, had more than aught else distinguished 
to Adrian, from all other women, the idol of his heart. 
And feeding his gaze upon those dark deep eyes, 
which spoke of thought far away and busy with the 
past, Adrian felt again and again that he was not for- 
gotten ! Hovering near her, but suffering the crowd 
to press one after another before him, he did not per- 
ceive that he had attracted the eagle eye of the Sen- 
ator. 

In fact, as one of the maskers passed Rienzi, he 
whispered, “ Beware, a Colonna is among the masks ! 
beneath the reveller’s domino has often lurked the as- 
sassin’s dagger. Yonder stands your foe — mark him ! ” 

These words were the first sharp and thrilling inti- 
mation of the perils into which he had rushed, that 
the Tribune-Senator had received since his return. 
He changed colour slightly ; and for some minutes the 
courtly smile and ready greeting with which he had 
hitherto delighted every guest, gave way to a moody 
abstraction. 

“ Why stands yon strange man so mute and motion- 
less ? ” whispered he to Nina. “ He speaks to none — 
he approaches us not — a churl, a churl ! — he must be 
seen to.” 


526 


RIENZI 


“ Doubtless some German or English barbarian/' 
answered Nina. “ Let not, my Lord, so slight a cloud 
dim your merriment.” 

“ You are right, dearest; we have friends here; we 
are well girt. And, by my father’s ashes, I feel that 
I must accustom myself to danger. Nina, let us move 
on ; methinks we might now mix among the maskers 
— masked ourselves.” 

The music played loud and cheerily as the Senator 
and his party mingled with the throng. But still his 
eye turned ever towards the gray domino of Adrian, 
and he perceived that it followed his steps. Approach- 
ing the private entrance of the Capitol, he for a few 
moments lost sight of his unwelcome pursuer: but just 
as he entered, turning abruptly, Rienzi perceived him 
close at his side — the next moment the stranger had 
vanished amidst the throng. But that moment had 
sufficed to Adrian — he had reached Irene. “ Adrian 
Colonna ” (he whispered) “ waits thee beside the 
Lion.” 

In the absorption of his own reflections, Rienzi for- 
tunately did not notice the sudden paleness and agita- 
tion of his sister. Entered within his palace, he called 
for wine — the draught revived his spirits — he listened 
smilingly to the sparkling remarks of Nina ; and endu- 
ing his mask and disguise, said, with his wonted cheer- 
fulness, “ Now for Truth — strange that in festivals it 
should only speak behind a vizard ! My sweet sister, 
thou hast lost thine old smile, and I would rather see 
that than — Ha ! has Irene vanished ? ” 

“ Only, I suppose, to change her dress, my Cola, 
and mingle with the revellers,” answered Nina. “ Let 
my smile atone for hers.” 

Rienzi kissed the bright brow of his wife as she 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 52 7 

clung fondly to his bosom. “ Thy smile is the sun- 
light/’ said he ; “ but this girl disturbs me. Methinks 
flow, at least, she might wear a gladder aspect.” 

“ Is there nothing of love beneath my fair sister’s 
gloom ? ” answered Nina. “ Do you not call to mind 
how she loved Adrian Colonna ? ” 

“ Does that fantasy hold still ? ” returned Rienzi, 
musingly. “ Well, and she is fit bride for a monarch.” 

“ Yet it were an alliance that would, better than 
one with monarchs, strengthen thy power at Rome ! ” 
“ Ay, were it possible ; but that haughty race ! — 
Perchance this very masker that so haunted our steps 
was but her lover. I will look to this. Let us forth, 
my Nina. Am I well cloaked? ” 

“ Excellently well — and I ? ” 

“ The sun behind a cloud.” 

“ Ah, let us not tarry long ; what hour of revel like 
that when thy hand in mine, this head upon thy bosom, 
we forget the sorrows we have known, and even the 
triumphs we have shared ? ” 

Meanwhile, Irene, confused and lost amidst a trans- 
port of emotion, already disguised and masked, was 
threading her way through the crowd back to the 
staircase of the Lion. With the absence of the Sena- 
tor that spot had comparatively been deserted. Music 
and the dance attracted the maskers to another quar- 
ter of the wide space. And Irene now approaching, 
beheld the moonlight fall over the statue, and a soli- 
tary figure leaning against the pedestal. She paused, 
the figure approached, and again she heard the voice 
of her Gariy love. 

“ Oh, Irene ! recognised even in this disguise,” said 
Adrian, seizing her trembling hand ; “ have I lived 
to gaze again upon that form — to touch this hand? 


5 28 


RIENZI 


Did not these eyes behold thee lifeless in that fearful 
vault, which I shudder to recall? By what miracle 
wert thou raised again ? By what means did Heaven 
spare to this earth one that it seemed already to have 
placed amongst its angels ? ” 

“Was this, indeed, thy belief?” said Irene, falter- 
ingly, but with an accent eloquent of joy. “ Thou 
didst not then willingly desert me? Unjust that I 
was, I wronged thy noble nature, and deemed that my 
brother’s fall, my humble lineage, thy brilliant fate, 
had made thee renounce Irene.” 

“ Unjust indeed ! ” answered the lover. “ But sure- 
ly I saw thee amongst the dead ! — thy cloak, with the 
silver stars — who else wore the arms of the Roman 
Tribune?” 

“ Was it but the cloak then, which, dropped in the 
streets, was probably assumed by some more ill-fated 
victim ; was it that sight alone, that made thee so soon 
despair? Ah ! Adrian,” continued Irene, tenderly, but 
with reproach ; “ not even when I saw thee seemingly 
lifeless on the couch by which I had watched three 
days and nights, not even then did / despair ! ” 

“ What, then, my vision did not deceive me ! It 
was you who watched by my bed in that grim hour, 
whose love guarded, whose care preserved me ! And 
I, wretch that I was ! ” 

“ Nay,” answered Irene, “ your thought was nat- 
ural. Heaven seemed to endow me with superhuman 
strength, whilst I was necessary to thee. But judge 
of my dismay. I left thee to seek the good friar who 
attended thee as thy leech ; I returned, and found thee 
not. Heart-sick and terrified, I searched the desolate 
city in vain. Strong as I was while hope supported 
me, I sunk beneath fear. — And my brother found me 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 529 

senseless, and stretched on the ground, by the church 
of St. Mark/’ 

“ The church of St. Mark ! — so foretold his dream ! ” 

“ He had told me he had met thee ; we searched for 
thee in vain ; at length we heard that thou hadst left 
the city, and — and — I rejoiced, Adrian, but I re- 
pined ! ” 

For some minutes the young lovers surrendered 
themselves to the delight of reunion, while new ex- 
planations called forth new transports. 

“ And now,” murmured Irene, “ now that we have 

met ” she paused, and her mask concealed her 

blushes. 

“ Now that we have met,” said Adrian, filling up 
the silence, “ wouldst thou say further, * that we should 
not part?’ Trust me, dearest, that is the hope that 
animates my heart. It was but to enjoy these brief 
bright moments with thee, that I delayed my depar- 
ture to Palestrina. Could I but hope to bring my 
young cousin into amity with thy brother, no barrier 
would prevent our union. Willingly I forget the past 
— the death of my unhappy kinsmen, (victims, it is 
true, to their own faults;) and, perhaps, amidst all the 
crowds that hailed his return, none more appreciated 
the great and lofty qualities of Cola di Rienzi, than did 
Adrian Colonna.” 

“ If this he so,” said Irene, “ let me hope the best; 
meanwhile, it is enough of comfort and of happiness 
to know, that we love each other as of old. Ah, 
Adrian, I am sadly changed ; and often have I thought 
it a thing beyond my dreams, that thou shouldst see 
me again and love me still.” 

“ Fairer art thou and lovelier than ever,” answered - 
Adrian, passionately ; “ and time, which has ripened 


34 


530 


RIENZI 


thy bloom, has but taught me more deeply to feel thy 
value. Farewell, Irene, I linger here no longer ; thou 
wilt, I trust, hear soon of my success with my House, 
and ere the week be over I may return to claim thy 
hand in the face of day.” 

The lovers parted ; Adrian lingered on the spot, and 
Irene hastened to bury her emotion and her raptures 
in her own chamber. 

As her form vanished, and the young Colonna slow- 
ly turned away, a tall mask strode abruptly towards 
him. 

“ Thou art a Colonna,” it said, “ and in the power 
of the Senator. Dost thou tremble ? ” 

“ If I be a Colonna, rude masker,” answered Adrian, 
coldly, “ thou shouldst know the old proverb, ‘ He 
who stirs the column, shall rue the fall.’ ” 

The stranger laughed aloud, and then lifting his 
mask, Adrian saw that it was the Senator who stood 
before him. 

“ My Lord Adrian di Castello,” said Rienzi, re- 
suming all his gravity, “ is it as friend or foe that you 
have honoured our revels this night ? ” 

“ Senator of Rome,” answered Adrian, with equal 
stateliness, “ I partake of no man’s hospitality but as 
a friend. A foe, at least to you, I trust never justly 
to be esteemed.” 

“ I would,” rejoined Rienzi, “ that I could apply 
to myself unreservedly that most flattering speech. 
Are these friendly feelings entertained towards me as 
the Governor of the Roman people, or as the brother 
of the woman who has listened to your vows?” 

Adrian, who when the Senator had unmasked had 
followed his example, felt at these words that his eye 
quailed beneath Rienzi’s. However, he recovered 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 531 

himself with the wonted readiness of an Italian, and 
replied laconically, 

“ As both.” 

“ Both ! ” echoed Rienzi. “ Then, indeed, noble 
Adrian, you are welcome hither. And yet, methinks, 
if you conceived there was no cause for enmity be- 
tween us, you would have wooed the sister of Cola di 
Rienzi in a guise more worthy of your birth ; and, per- 
mit me to add, of that station which God, destiny, and 
my country, have accorded unto me. You dare not, 
young Colonna, meditate dishonour to the sister of the 
Senator of Rome. High-born as you are, she is your 
equal.” 

“ Were I the Emperor, whose simple knight I but 
am, your sister were my equal,” answered Adrian, 
warmly. “ Rienzi, I grieve that I am discovered to 
you yet. I had trusted that, as a mediator between 
the Barons and yourself, I might first have won your 
confidence, and then claimed my reward. Know that 
with to-morrow’s dawn I depart for Palestrina, seek- 
ing to reconcile my young cousin to the choice of the 
People and the Pontiff. Various reasons, which I 
need not now detail, would have made me wish to 
undertake this heraldry of peace without previous 
communication with you. But since we have met, 
intrust me with any terms of conciliation, and I pledge 
you the right hand, not of a Roman noble — alas ! the 
prisca tides has departed from that pledge ! — but of a 
Knight of the Imperial Court, that I will not betray 
your confidence.” 

Rienzi, accustomed to read the human countenance, 
had kept his eyes intently fixed upon Adrian while 
he spoke ; when the Colonna concluded, he pressed 
*he proffered hand, and said, with that familiar and 


532 


RIENZI 


winning sweetness which at times was so peculiar to 
his manner, 

“ I trust you, Adrian, from my soul. You were 
mine early friend in calmer, perchance happier years. 
And never did river reflect the stars more clearly, than 
your heart then mirrored back the truth. I trust 
you ! ” 

While thus speaking, he had mechanically led back 
the Colonna to the statue of the Lion ; there pausing, 
he resumed : 

“ Know that I have this morning despatched my 
delegate to your cousin Stefanello. With all due 
courtesy, I have apprised him of my return to Rome, 
and invited hither his honoured presence. Forgetting 
all ancient feuds, mine own past exile, I have assured 
him, here, the station and dignity due to the head of 
the Colonna. All that I ask in return is obedience to 
the law. Years and reverses have abated my younger 
pride, and though I may yet preserve the sternness of 
the Judge, none shall hereafter complain of the inso- 
lence of the Tribune.” 

“ I would,” answered Adrian, “ that your mission 
to Stefanello had been delayed a day ; I would fain 
have forestalled its purport. Howbeit, you increase 
my desire of departure, should I yet succeed in obtain- 
ing an honourable and peaceful reconciliation, it is not 
in disguise that I will woo your sister.” 

“ And never did Colonna,” replied Rienzi, loftily, 
“ bring to his House a maiden whose alliance more 
gratified ambition. I still see, as I have seen ever, 
in mine own projects, and mine own destinies, the 
chart of the new Roman Empire ! ” 

“ Be not too sanguine yet, brave Rienzi,” replied 
Adrian, laying his hand on the Lion of Basalt ; “ be- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 533 

think thee on how many scheming brains this dumb 
image of stone hath looked down from its pedestal — 
schemes of sand, and schemers of dust. Thou hast 
enough, at present, for the employ of all thine energy 
— not to extend thy power, but to preserve thyself. 
For, trust me, never stood human greatness on so wild 
and dark a precipice ! ” 

“ Thou art honest,” said the Senator ; “ and these 
are the first words of doubt, and yet of sympathy, I 
have heard in Rome. But the People love me, the 
Barons have fled from Rome, the Pontiff approves, 
and the swords of the Northmen guard the avenues 
of the Capitol. But these are nought; in mine own 
honesty are my spear and buckler. Oh, never,” con- 
tinued Rienzi, kindling with his enthusiasm, “ never 
since the days of the old Republic, did Roman dream 
a purer and a brighter aspiration, than that which an- 
imates and supports me now. Peace restored — law 
established — art, letters, intellect, dawning upon the 
night of time; the Patricians, no longer bandits of 
rapine, but the guards of order; the People ennobled 
from a mob, brave to protect, enlightened to guide, 
themselves. Then, not by the violence of arms, but 
by the majesty of her moral power, shall the Mother 
of Nations claim the obedience of her children. Thus 
dreaming and thus hoping, shall I tremble or despond? 
No, Adrian Colonna, come weal or woe, I abide, 
unshrinking and unawed, by the chances of my 
doom ! ” 

So much did the manner and the tone of the Sena- 
tor exalt his language, that even the sober sense of 
Adrian was enchanted and subdued. He kissed the 
hand he held, and said earnestly, 

“ A doom that I will deem it my boast to share — a 


534 


RIENZI 


career that it will be my glory to smooth. If I suc- 
ceed in my present mission ” 

“You are my brother!” said Rienzi. 

“ If I fail?” 

“ You may equally claim that alliance. You pause 
— you change colour.” 

“ Can I desert my house ? ” 

“ Young Lord,” said Rienzi, loftily, “ say rather 
can you desert your country? If you doubt my hon- 
esty, if you fear my ambition, desist from your task, 
rob me not of a single foe. But if you believe that 
I have the will and the power to serve the state — if 
you recognise, even in the reverses and calamities 
I have known and mastered, the protecting hand of the 
Saviour of Nations — if those reverses were but the 
mercies of Him who chasteneth — necessary, it may be, 
to correct my earlier daring and sharpen yet more my 
intellect — if, in a word, thou believest me one whom, 
whatever be his faults, God hath preserved for the 
sake of Rome, forget that you are a Colonna — remem- 
ber only that you are a Roman! ” 

“ You have conquered me, strange and command- 
ing spirit,” said Adrian, in a low voice, completely 
carried away; “ and whatever the conduct of my kin- 
dred, I am yours and Rome’s. Farewell.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 535 


CHAPTER III 

Adrian’s adventures at palestrina 

It was yet noon when Adrian beheld before him the 
lofty mountains that shelter Palestrina, the Prceneste of 
the ancient world. Back to a period before Romulus 
existed, in the earliest ages of that mysterious civili- 
sation which in Italy preceded the birth of Rome, 
could be traced the existence and the power of that 
rocky city. Eight dependent towns owned its sway 
and its wealth ; its position, and the strength of those 
mighty walls, in whose ruins may yet be traced the 
masonry of the remote Pelasgi, had long braved the 
ambition of the neighbouring Rome. From that very 
citadel, the Mural Crown* of the mountain, had waved 
the standard of Marius ; and up the road which 
Adrian’s scanty troop slowly wound, had echoed the 
march of the murtherous Sylla, on his return from the 
Mithridatic war. Below, where the city spreads to- 
wards the plain, were yet seen the shattered and roof- 
less columns of the once celebrated Temple of For- 
tune; and still the immemorial olives clustered gray 
and mournfully around the ruins. 

A more formidable hold the Barons of Rome could 
not have selected ; and as Adrian’s military eye 
scanned the steep ascent and the rugged walls, he felt 
that with ordinary skill it might defy for months all the 
power of the Roman Senator. Below, in the fertile 
valley, dismantled cottages and trampled harvests at- 
tested the violence and rapine of the insurgent Barons ; 

* Hence, apparently, its Greek name of Stephane. Pal- 
estrina is yet one of the many proofs which the vicinity of 
Rome affords of the old Greek civilisation of Italy. 


RIENZI 


536 

and at that very moment were seen, in the old plain 
of the warlike Hernici, troops of armed men, driving 
before them herds of sheep and cattle, collected in 
their lawless incursions. In sight of that Prceneste, 
which had been the favourite retreat of the luxurious 
Lords of Rome in its most polished day, the Age of 
Iron seemed renewed. 

The banner of the Colonna, borne by Adrian's 
troop, obtained ready admittance at the Porta del Sole. 
As he passed up the irregular and narrow streets that 
ascended to the citadel, groups of foreign mercena- 
ries, — half-ragged, half-tawdry knots of abandoned 
women, — mixed here and there with the liveries of the 
Colonna, stood loitering amidst the ruins of ancient 
fanes and palaces, or basked lazily in the sun, upon 
terraces, through which, from amidst weeds and grass, 
glowed the imperishable hues of the rich mosaics, 
which had made the pride of that lettered and graceful 
nobility, of whom savage freebooters were now the 
heirs. 

The contrast been the Past and Present forcibly oc- 
curred to Adrian, as he passed along ; and, despite his 
order, he felt as if Civilisation itself were enlisted 
against his House upon the side of Rienzi. 

Leaving his train in the court of the citadel, Adrian 
demanded admission to the presence of his cousin. 
He had left Stefanello a child on his departure from 
Rome, and there could therefore be but a slight and 
unfamiliar acquaintance betwixt them, despite their 
kindred. 

Peals of laughter came upon his ear, as he followed 
one of Stefanello’s gentlemen through a winding pas- 
sage that led to the principal chamber. The door was 
thrown open, and Adrian found himself in a rude hall, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 537 


to which some appearance of hasty state and attempted 
comfort had been given. Costly arras imperfectly 
clothed the stone walls, and the rich seats and decorated 
tables, which the growing civilisation of the north- 
ern cities of Italy had already introduced into the pal- 
aces of Italian nobles, strangely contrasted the rough 
pavement, spread with heaps of armour negligently 
piled around. At the farther end of the apartment, 
Adrian shudderingly perceived, set in due and exact 
order, the implements of torture. 

Stefanello Colonna, with two other Barons, indo- 
lently reclined on seats drawn around a table, in the 
recess of a deep casement, from which might be still 
seen the same glorious landscape, bounded by the dim 
spires of Rome, which Hannibal and Pyrrhus had as- 
cended that very citadel to survey ! 

Stefanello himself, in the first bloom of youth, bore 
already on his beardless countenance those traces 
usually the work of the passions and vices of maturest 
manhood. His features were cast in the mould of 
the old Stephen’s ; in their clear, sharp, high-bred out- 
line might be noticed that regular and graceful sym- 
metry, which blood, in men as in animals, will some- 
times entail through generations; but the features 
were wasted and meagre. His brows were knit in an 
eternal frown; his thin and bloodless lips wore that 
insolent contempt which seems so peculiarly cold and 
unlovely in early youth ; and the deep and livid hol- 
lows round his eyes, spoke of habitual excess and pre- 
mature exhaustion. By him sat (reconciled by hatred 
to one another) the hereditary foes of his race ; the soft, 
but cunning and astute features of Luca di Savelli, 
contrasted with the broad frame and ferocious counte- 
nance of the Prince of the Orsini. 


538 


RIENZI 


The young head of the Colonna rose with some 
cordiality to receive his cousin. “ Welcome,” he said, 
“ dear Adrian ; you are arrived in time to assist us with 
your well-known military skill. Think you not we 
shall stand a long siege, if the insolent plebeian dare 
adventure it? You know our friends, the Orsini and 
the Savelli ? Thanks to St. Peter, or Peter’s delegate, 
we have now happily meaner throats to cut than those 
of each other ! ” 

Thus saying, Stefanello again threw himself list- 
lessly on his seat, and the shrill, woman’s voice of 
Savelli took part in the dialogue. 

“ I would, noble Signor, that you had come a few 
hours earlier : we are still making merry at the recol- 
lection — he, he, he ! ” 

“ Ah, excellent,” cried Stefanello, joining in the 
laugh ; “ our cousin has had a loss. Know Adrian, 
that this base fellow, whom the Pope has had the im- 
pudence to create Senator, dared but yesterday to send 
us a varlet, whom he called — by our Lady! — his am- 
bassador! ” 

“Would you could have seen his mantle, Signor 
Adrian ! ” chimed in the Savelli : “ purple velvet, as i 
live, decorated in gold, with the arms of Rome: we 
soon spoiled his finery.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Adrian, “ you did not break 
the laws of all nobility and knighthood? — you offered 
no insult to a herald ! ” 

“ Herald, sayest thou ? ” cried Stefanello, frowning 
till his eyes were scarce visible. “ It is for Princes and 
Barons alone to employ heralds. An I had had my 
will, I would have sent back the minion’s head to the 
usurper.” 

“ What did ye then ? ” asked Adrian, coldly. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 539 

“ Bade our swineherds dip the fellow in the ditch, 
and gave him a night’s lodging in a dungeon to dry 
himself withal.” 

“ And this morning — he, he, he ! ” added the Savelli, 
“ we had him before us, and drew his teeth, one by 
one ; — I would you could have heard the fellow mum- 
ble out for mercy ! ” 

Adrian rose hastily, and struck the table fiercely 
with his gauntlet. 

“ Stefanello Colonna,” said he, colouring with noble 
rage, “ answer me : did you dare to inflict this indeli- 
ble disgrace upon the name we jointly bear? Tell me, 
at least, that you protested against this foul treason to 
all the laws of civilisation and of honour. You answer 
not. House of the Colonna, can such be thy repre- 
sentative ! ” 

“ To me these words ! ” said Stefanello, trembling 
with passion. “ Beware ! Methinks thou art the 
traitor, leagued perhaps with yon rascal mob. Well 
do I remember that thou, the betrothed of the Dema- 
gogue’s sister, didst not join with my uncle and my 
father of old, but didst basely leave the city to her 
plebeian tyrant.” 

“ That did he ! ” said the fierce Orsini, approaching 
Adrian menacingly, while the gentle cowardice of 
Savelli sought in vain to pluck him back by the mantle 
— “ that did he ! and but for thy presence, Stefa- 
nello ” 

“ Coward and blusterer ! ” interrupted Adrian, fairly 
beside himself with indignation and shame, and dash- 
ing his gauntlet in the very face of the advancing 
Orsini — “ wouldst thou threaten one who has main- 
tained, in every list of Europe, and against the stoutest 
Chivalry of the North, the honour of Rome, which thy 


540 


RIENZI 


deeds the while disgraced ? By this gage, I spit upon 
and defy thee. With lance and with brand, on horse 
and on foot, I maintain against thee and all thy line, 
that thou art no knight to have thus maltreated, in thy 
strongholds, a peaceful and unarmed herald. Yes, 
even here, on the spot of thy disgrace, I challenge 
thee to arms ! ” 

“ To the court below ! Follow me,” said Orsini sul- 
lenly, and striding towards the threshold. “ What, ho 
there ! my helmet and breastplate ! ” 

“ Stay, noble Orsini,” said Stefanello. “ The in- 
sult offered to thee is my quarrel — mine was the 
deed — and against me speaks this degenerate scion 
of our line. Adrian di Castello — sometime called 
Colonna — surrender your sword : you are my pris- 
oner ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” said Adrian, grinding his teeth, “ that my 
ancestral blood did not flow through thy veins — else — 
but enough ! Me ! your equal, and the favoured 
Knight of the Emperor, whose advent now brightens 
the frontiers of Italy ! — me — you dare not detain. For 
your friends, I shall meet them yet perhaps, ere many 
days are over, where none shall separate our swords. 
Till then, remember, Orsini, that it is against no un- 
practised arm that thou wilt have to redeem thine 
honour ! ” 

Adrian, his drawn sword in his hand, strode towards 
the door, and passed the Orsini, who stood, lowering 
and irresolute, in the centre of the apartment. 

“ Savelli,” whispered Stefanello. “ He says, ‘ Ere 
many days be past ! ’ Be sure, dear Signor, that he 
goes to join Rienzi. Remember, the alliance he once 
sought with the Tribune’s sister may be renewed. Be- 
ware of him! Ought he to leave the castle? The 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 541 

name of a Colonna, associated with the mob, would 
distract and divide half our strength.” 

“ Fear me not,” returned Stefanello, with a malig- 
nant smile. “ Ere you spoke, I had determined ! ” 

The young Colonna lifted the arras from the wall, 
opened a door, and passed into a low hall, in which 
sate twenty mercenaries. 

“ Quick ! ” said he. “ Seize and disarm yon stranger 
in the green mantle — but slay him not. Bid the guard 
below find dungeons for his train. Quick ! ere he 
reach the gate.” 

Adrian had gained the open hall below — his train 
and his steed were in sight in the court — when sud- 
denly the soldiery of the Colonna, rushing through 
another passage than that which he had passed, sur- 
rounded and intercepted his retreat. 

“ Yield thee, Adrian di Castello,” cried Stefanello 
from the summit of the stairs ; “ or your blood be on 
your own head.” 

Three steps did Adrian make through the press, 
and three of his enemies fell beneath his sword. “ To 
the rescue ! ” he shouted to his band, and already those 
bold and daring troopers had gained the hall. Pres- 
ently the alarum bell tolled loud — the court swarmed 
with soldiers. Oppressed by numbers, beat down 
rather than subdued, Adrian’s little train was soon 
secured, and the flower of the Colonna, wounded, 
breathless, disarmed, but still uttering loud defiance, 
was a prisoner in the fortress of his kinsman. 


542 


RIENZI 


CHAPTER IV 

THE POSITION OF THE SENATOR — THE WORK OF 
YEARS THE REWARDS OF AMBITION 

The indignation of Rienzi may readily be conceived, 
on the return of his herald mutilated and dishonoured. 
His temper, so naturally stern, was rendered yet more 
hard by the remembrance of his wrongs and trials; 
and the result which attended his overtures of concilia- 
tion to Stefanello Colonna stung him to the soul. 

The bell of the Capitol tolled to arms within ten 
minutes after the return of the herald. The great 
gonfalon of Rome was unfurled on the highest tower ; 
and the very evening after Adrian’s arrest, the forces 
of the Senator, headed by Rienzi in person, were on 
the road to Palestrina. The troopers of the Barons 
had, however, made incursions as far as Tivoli with 
the supposed connivance of the inhabitants, and Rienzi 
halted at that beautiful spot to raise recruits, and re- 
ceive the allegiance of the suspected, while his soldiers, 
with Arimbaldo and Brettone at their head, went in 
search of the marauders. The brothers of Montreal 
returned late at night with the intelligence, that the 
troopers of the Barons had secured themselves amidst 
the recesses of the wood of Pantano. 

The red spot mounted to Rienzi’s brow. He gazed 
hard at Brettone, who stated the news to him, and a 
natural suspicion shot across his mind. 

“How! — escaped!” he said. “Is it possible? 
Enough of such idle skirmishes with these lordly rob- 
bers. Will the hour ever come when I shall meet 
them hand to hand? Brettone,” and the brother of 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 543 

Montreal felt the dark eye of Rienzi pierce to his very 
heart : “ Brettone ! ” said he, with an abrupt change of 
voice, “ are your men to be trusted f Is there no con- 
nivance with the Barons ? ” 

“ How ! ” said Brettone, sullenly, but somewhat 
confused. 

“How me no hows!” quoth the Tribune-Senator, 
fiercely. “ I know that thou art a valiant Captain of 
valiant men. Thou and thy brother Arimbaldo have 
served me well, and I have rewarded ye well ! Have 
I not ? Speak ! ” 

“ Senator,” answered Arimbaldo, taking up the 
word, “ you have kept your word to us. You have 
raised us to the highest rank your power could bestow, 
and this has amply atoned our humble services.” 

“ I am glad ye allow thus much,” said the Tribune. 

Arimbaldo proceeded, somewhat more loftily, “ I 
trust, my Lord, you do not doubt us ? ” 

“ Arimbaldo,” replied Rienzi, in a voice of deep, 
but half-suppressed emotion ; “ you are a lettered man, 
and you have seemed to share my projects for the re- 
generation of our common kind. You ought not to 
betray me. There is something in unison between 
us. But, chide me not, I am surrounded by trea- 
son, and the very air I breathe seems to poison my 
lips.” 

There was a pathos mingled with Rienzi’s words 
which touched the milder brother of Montreal. He 
bowed in silence. Rienzi surveyed him wistfully, and 
sighed. Then, changing the conversation, he spoke 
of their intended siege of Palestrina, and shortly after- 
wards retired to rest. 

Left alone, the brothers regarded each other for 
some moments in silence. “ Brettone,” said Arim- 


RIENZI 


544 

baldo, at length, in a whispered voice, “ my heart mis- 
gives . me. I like not Walter’s ambitious schemes. 
With our own countrymen we are frank and loyal, why 
play the traitor with this high-souled Roman?”* 

“ Tush ! ” said Brettone. “ Our brother’s hand of 
iron alone can sway this turbulent people; and if 
Rienzi be betrayed, so also his enemies, the Barons. 
No more of this ! I have tidings from Montreal ; he 
will be in Rome in a few days.” 

“ And then ! ” 

“Rienzi, weakened by the Barons (for he must 
not conquer) — the Barons, weakened by Rienzi — our 
Northmen seize the Capitol, and the soldiery, now 
scattered throughout Italy, will fly to the standard of 
the Grand Captain. Montreal must be first Podesta, 
then King, of Rome.” 

Arimbaldo moved restlessly in his seat, and the 
brethren conferred no more on their projects. 

The situation of Rienzi was precisely that which 
tends the most to sour and to harden the fairest nature. 
With an intellect capable of the grandest designs, a 
heart that beats with the loftiest emotions, elevated to 
the sunny pinnacle of power and surrounded by loud- 
tongued adulators, he knew not among men a single 
breast in which he could confide. He was as one on 
a steep ascent, whose footing crumbles, while every 
bough at which he grasps seems to rot at his touch. 
He found the people more than ever eloquent in his 
favour, but while they shouted raptures as he passed, 
not a man was capable of making a sacrifice for him! 

* The anonymous biographer of Rienzi makes the follow- 
ing just remark: “ Sono li tedeschi, come discendon de la 
Alemagna, semplici, puri, senza fraude, come si allocano tra’ 
taliani, diventano mastri coduti, viziosi, che sentono ogni 
malizia.” — Vit. di Col. di Rienzi, lib. ii. cap. 16. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 545 

The liberty of a state is never achieved by a single in- 
dividual ; if not the people — if not the greater num- 
ber — a zealous and fervent minority, at least, must go 
hand in hand with him. Rome demanded sacrifices 
in all who sought the Roman regeneration — sacrifices 
of time, ease, and money. The crowd followed the 
procession of the Senator, but not a single Roman 
devoted his life, unpaid , to his standard ; not a sin- 
gle coin was subscribed in the defence of freedom. 
Against him were arrayed the most powerful and the 
most ferocious Barons of Italy ; each of whom could 
maintain, at his own cost, a little army of practised 
warriors. With Rienzi were traders and artificers, who 
were willing to enjoy the fruits of liberty, but not to 
labour at the soil ; who demanded, in return for empty 
shouts, peace and riches ; and who expected that one 
man was to effect in a day what would be cheaply 
purchased by the struggle of a generation. All their 
dark and rude notion of a reformed state was to live 
unbutchered by the Barons and untaxed by their gov- 
ernors. Rome, I say, gave to her Senator not a free 
arm, nor a voluntary florin.* Well aware of the dan- 
ger which surrounds the ruler who defends his state 
by foreign swords, the fondest wish, and the most 
visionary dream of Rienzi, was to revive amongst the 
Romans, in their first enthusiasm at his return, an 
organised and voluntary force, who, in protecting him, 
would protect themselves : — not, as before, in his first 
power, a nominal force of twenty thousand men, who 
at any hour might yield (as they did yield) to one 
hundred and fifty ; but a regular, well disciplined and 
trusty body, numerous enough to resist aggression, 

* This plain fact is thoroughly borne out by every au- 
thority. 

35 


546 RIENZI 

not numerous enough to become themselves the ag- 
gressors. 

Hitherto all his private endeavours, his public ex- 
hortations, had failed; the crowd listened — shouted — 
saw him quit the city to meet their tyrants, and re- 
turned to their shops saying to each other, “ What a 
great man ! ” 

The character of Rienzi has chiefly received for its 
judges men of the closet, who speculate upon human 
beings as if they were machines ; who gauge the great, 
not by their merit, but by their success ; and who have 
censured or sneered at the Tribune, where they should 
have condemned the People ! Had but one-half the 
spirit been found in Rome which ran through a single 
vein of Cola di Rienzi, the august Republic, if not the 
majestic empire, of Rome, might be existing now! 
Turning from the people, the Senator saw his rude 
and savage troops, accustomed to the licence of a 
tyrant’s camp, and under commanders in whom it was 
ruin really to confide — whom it was equal ruin openly 
to distrust. Hemmed in on every side by dangers, 
his character daily grew more restless, vigilant, and 
stern ; and still, with all the aims of the patriot, he felt 
all the curses of the tyrant. Without the rough and 
hardening career which, through a life of warfare, had 
brought Cromwell to a similar power — with more of 
grace and intellectual softness in his composition, he 
resembled that yet greater man in some points of 
character — in his religious enthusiasm ; his rigid jus- 
tice, often forced by circumstance into severity, but 
never wantonly cruel or blood-thirsty ; in his singular 
pride of country ; and his mysterious command over 
the minds of others. But he resembled the giant 
Englishman far more in circumstance than original 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 547 

nature, and that circumstance assimilated their charac- 
ters at the close of their several careers. Like Crom- 
well, beset by secret or open foes, the assassin’s dag- 
ger ever gleamed before his eyes ; and his stout heart, 
unawed by real, trembled at imagined, terrors. The 
countenance changing suddenly from red to white — • 
the bloodshot, restless eye, belying the composed maj- 
esty of mien — the muttering lips — the broken slum- 
ber — the secret corselet ; — these to both were the 
rewards of Power! 

The elasticity of youth had left the Tribune ! His 
frame, which had endured so many shocks, had con- 
tracted a painful disease in the dungeon at Avignon* 
— his high soul still supported him, but the nerves 
gave way. Tears came readily into his eyes, and often, 
like Cromwell, he was thought to weep from hypocrisy, 
when in truth it was the hysteric of overwrought and 
irritable emotion. In all his former life singularly 
temperate, f he now fled from his goading thoughts to 
the beguiling excitement of wine. He drank deep, 
though its effects were never visible upon him except 
in a freer and wilder mood, and the indulgence of that 
racy humour, half-mirthful, half-bitter, for which his 
younger days had been distinguished. Now the mirth 
had more loudness, but the bitterness more gall. 

Such were the characteristics of Rienzi at his return 
to power — made more apparent with every day. Nina 
he still loved with the same tenderness, and, if pos- 

* “ Dicea che ne la prigione era stato ascarmato. ,, — Vit. di 
Col. di Rienzi, lib. ii. cap. 18. 

f “ Solea prima esser sobrio, temperato, astinente, ora e 
diventato distemperatissimo bevitore,” &c. — Ibid. 

“At first he used to be sober, temperate, abstinent; now he 
is become a most intemperate drinker,” &c . — Life of Cola di 
Rienzi. 


548 


RIENZI 


sible, she adored him more than ever; but, the zest 
and freshness of triumphant ambition gone, somehow 
or other, their intercourse together had not its old 
charm. Formerly they talked constantly of the future 
— of the bright days in store for them. Now, with a 
sharp and uneasy pang, Rienzi turned from all thought 
of that “ gay to-morrow.” There was no “ gay to- 
morrow ” for him ! Dark and thorny as was the pres- 
ent hour, all beyond seemed yet less cheering and 
more ominous. Still he had some moments, brief but 
brilliant, when, forgetting the iron race amongst whom 
he was thrown, he plunged into scholastic reveries of 
the worshipped Past, and half fancied that he was of 
a People worthy of his genius and his devotion. Like 
most men who have been preserved through great 
dangers, he continued with increasing fondness to 
nourish a credulous belief in the grandeur of his own 
destiny. He could not imagine that he had been so 
delivered, and for no end ! He was the Elected, and 
therefore the Instrument, of Heaven. And thus, that 
Bible which in his loneliness, his wanderings, and his 
prison, had been his solace and support, was more 
than ever needed in his greatness. 

It was another cause of sorrow and chagrin to one 
who, amidst such circumstances of public danger, re- 
quired so peculiarly the support and sympathy of pri- 
vate friends, — that he found he- had incurred amongst 
his old coadjutors the common penalty of absence. 
A few were dead; others, wearied with the storms of 
public life, and chilled in their ardour by the turbulent 
revolutions to which, in every effort for her ameliora- 
tion, Rome had been subjected, had retired, — some 
altogether from the city, some from all participation 
in political affairs. In his halls, the Tribune-Senator 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 549 

was surrounded by unfamiliar faces, and a new gen- 
eration. Of the heads of the popular party, most were 
animated by a stern dislike to the Pontifical domina- 
tion, and looked with suspicion and repugnance upon 
one who, if he governed for the People, had been 
trusted and honoured by the Pope. Rienzi was not 
a man to forget former friends, however lowly, and 
had already found time to seek an interview with 
Cecco del Vecchio. But that stern Republican had 
received him with coldness. His foreign mercenaries, 
and his title of Senator were things that the artisan 
could not digest. With his usual bluntness, he had 
said so to Rienzi. 

“ As for the last,” answered the Tribune, affably, 
“ names do not alter natures. When I forget that to 
be delegate to the Pontiff is to be the guardian of his 
flock, forsake me. As for the first, let me but see five 
hundred Romans sworn to stand armed day and night 
for the defence of Rome, and I dismiss the North- 
men.” 

Cecco del Vecchio was unsoftened ; honest, but un- 
educated — impracticable, and by nature a malcontent, 
he felt as if he were no longer necessary to the Sena- 
tor, and this offended his pride. Strange as it may 
seem, the sullen artisan bore, too, a secret grudge 
against Rienzi, for not having seen and selected him 
from a crowd of thousands on the day of his triumphal 
entry. Such are the small offences which produce 
deep danger to the great ! 

The artisans still held their meetings, and Cecco del 
Vecchio’s voice was heard loud in grumbling fore- 
bodings. But what wounded Rienzi yet more than 
the alienation of the rest, was the confused and 
altered manner of his old friend and familiar, Pan- 


550 


RIENZI 


dulfo di Guido. Missing that popular citizen among 
those who daily offered their homage at the Capitol, 
he had sent for him, and sought in vain to revive their 
ancient intimacy. Pandulfo affected great respect, 
but not all the condescension of the Senator could con- 
quer his distance and his restraint. In fact, Pandulfo 
had learned to form ambitious projects of his own; 
and but for the return of Rienzi, Pandulfo di Guido 
felt that he might now, with greater safety, and indeed 
with some connivance from the Barons, have been the 
Tribune of the People. The facility to rise into pop- 
ular eminence which a disordered and corrupt state, 
unblest by a regular constitution, offers to ambition, 
breeds the jealousy and the rivalship which destroy 
union, and rot away the ties of party. 

Such was the situation of Rienzi, and yet, wonder- 
ful to say, he seemed to be adored by the multitude ; 
and law and liberty, life and death, were in his hands ! 

Of all those who attended his person, Angelo Vil- 
lani was the most favoured ; that youth who had ac- 
companied Rienzi in his long exile, had also, at the 
wish of Nina, attended him from Avignon, through 
his sojourn in the camp of Albornoz. His zeal, intel- 
ligence, and frank and evident affection, blinded the 
Senator to the faults of his character, and established 
him more and more in the gratitude of Rienzi. He 
loved to feel that one faithful heart beat near him, 
and the page, raised to the rank of his chamberlain, 
always attended his person, and slept in his ante- 
chamber. 

Retiring that night at Tivoli, to the apartment pre- 
pared for him, the Senator sat down by the open case- 
ment, through which were seen, waving in the star- 
light, the dark pines that crowned the hills, while the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 551 

stillness of the hour gave to his ear the dash of the 
waterfalls heard above the regular and measured tread 
of the sentinels below. Leaning his cheek upon his 
hand, Rienzi long surrendered himself to gloomy 
thought, and, when he looked up, he saw the bright 
blue eye of Villani fixed in anxious sympathy on his 
countenance. 

“ Is my Lord unwell ? ” asked the young chamber- 
lain, hesitating. 

“ Not so, my Angelo; but somewhat sick at heart. 
Methinks, for a September night, the air is chill ! ” 

“ Angelo,” resumed Rienzi, who had already ac- 
quired that uneasy curiosity which belongs to an 
uncertain power, — “ Angelo, bring me hither yon 
writing implements; hast thou heard aught what the 
men say of our probable success against Pales- 
trina ? ” 

“ Would my Lord wish to learn all their gossip, 
whether it please or not ? ” answered Villani. 

“ If I studied only to hear what pleased me, Angelo, 
I should never have returned to Rome.” 

“ Why, then, I heard a constable of the Northmen 
say, meaningly, that the place will not be carried.” 

“ Humph ! And what said the captains of my 
Roman Legion ? ” 

“ My Lord, I have heard it whispered that they fear 
defeat less than they do the revenge of the Barons, 
if they are successful.” 

“ And with such tools the living race of Europe 
and misjudging posterity will deem that the workman 
is to shape out the Ideal and the Perfect ! Bring me 
yon Bible.” 

As Angelo reverently brought to Rienzi the sacred 
book, he said, 


552 


RIENZI 


“ Just before I left my companions below, there was 
a rumour that the Lord Adrian Colonna had been im- 
prisoned by his kinsman.” 

“ I too heard, and I believe, as much,” returned 
Rienzi : “ these Barons would gibbet their own chil- 
dren in irons, if there were any chance of the shackles 
growing rusty for want of prey. But the wicked shall 
be brought low, and their strong places shall be made 
desolate.” 

“ I would, my Lord,” said Villani, “ that our 
Northmen had other captains than these Proven- 
gals.” 

“ Why ? ” asked Rienzi, abruptly. 

“ Have the creatures of the Captain of the Grand 
Company ever held faith with any man whom it suited 
the avarice or the ambition of Montreal to betray? 
Was he not, a few months ago, the right arm of John 
di Vico, and did he not sell his services to John di 
Vico’s enemy, the Cardinal Albornoz? These war- 
riors barter men as cattle.” 

“ Thou describest Montreal rightly : a dangerous 
and an awful man. But methinks his brothers are of 
a duller and meaner kind ; they dare not the crimes of 
the Robber Captain. Howbeit, Angelo, thou hast 
touched a string that will make discord with sleep 
to-night. Fair youth, thy young eyes have need of 
slumber; withdraw, and when thou hearest men envy 
Rienzi, think that ” 

“ God never made Genius to be envied ! ” inter- 
rupted Villani, with an energy that overcame his re- 
spect. “We envy not the sun, but rather the valleys 
that ripen beneath his beams.” 

“Verily, if I be the sun,” said Rienzi, with a bitter 
and melancholy smile, “ I long for night, — and come 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 553 

it will, to the human as to the celestial Pilgrim ! — 
Thank Heaven at least, that our ambition cannot make 
us immortal ! ” 


CHAPTER V 

THE BITER BIT 

The next morning, when Rienzi descended to the 
room where his captains awaited him, his quick eye 
perceived that a cloud still lowered upon the brow of 
Messere Brettone. Arimbaldo, sheltered by the re- 
cess of the rude casement, shunned his eye. 

“ A fair morning, gentles,” said Rienzi ; “ the Sun 
laughs upon our enterprise. I have messengers from 
Rome betimes — fresh troops will join us ere noon.” 

“ I am glad, Senator,” answered Brettone, “ that 
you have tidings which will counteract the ill of those 
I have to narrate to thee. The soldiers murmur 
loudly — their pay is due to them ; and, I fear me, that 
without money they will not march to Palestrina.” 

“ As they will,” returned Rienzi, carelessly. “ It is 
but a few days since they entered Rome ; pay did they 
receive in advance — if they demand more, the Colonna 
and Orsini may outbid me. Draw off your soldiers, 
Sir Knight, and farewell.” 

Brettone’s countenance fell — it was his object to get 
Rienzi more and more in his power, and he wished 
not to suffer him to gain that strength which would 
accrue to him from the fall of Palestrina : the indiffer- 
ence of the Senator foiled and entrapped him in his 
own net. 

“ That must not be,” said the brother of Montreal, 
after a confused silence ; “ we cannot leave you thus 


554 


RIENZI 


to your enemies — the soldiers, it is true, demand 
pay ” 

“ And should have it,” said Rienzi. “ I know these 
mercenaries — it is ever with them, mutiny or money. 
I will throw myself on my Romans, and triumph — or 
fall, if so Heaven decrees, with them. Acquaint your 
constables with my resolve.” 

Scarce were these words spoken, ere, as previously 
concerted with Brettone, the chief constable of the 
mercenaries appeared at the door. “ Senator,” said 
he, with a rough semblance of aspect, “ your orders 
to march have reached me, I have sought to marshal 
my men — but ” 

“ I know what thou wouldst say, friend,” interrupted 
Rienzi, waving his hand : “ Messere Brettone will give 
you my reply. Another time, Sir Captain, more cere- 
mony with the Senator of Rome — you may withdraw.” 

The unforeseen dignity of Rienzi rebuked and 
abashed the constable ; he looked at Brettone, who 
motioned him to depart. He closed the door and 
withdrew. 

“ What is to be done ? ” said Brettone. 

“ Sir Knight,” replied Rienzi, gravely, “ let us un- 
derstand each other. Would you serve me or not? 
If the first, you are not my equal, but subordinate — 
and you must obey and not dictate ; if the last, my 
debt to you shall be discharged, and the world is wide 
enough for both.” 

“ We have declared allegiance to you,” answered 
Brettone, “ and it shall be given.” 

“ One caution before I re-accept your fealty,” replied 
Rienzi, very slowly. “ For an open foe, I have my 
sword — for a traitor, mark me, Rome has the axe ; 
of the first I have no fear; for the last, no mercy.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 555 

“ These are not words that should pass between 
friends/’ said Brettone, turning pale with suppressed 
emotion. 

“ Friends ! — ye are my friends, then ! — your hands ! 
Friends, so you are ! — and shall prove it ! Dear Arim- 
baldo, thou, like myself, art book-learned, — a clerkly 
soldier. Dost thou remember how in the Roman his- 
tory it is told that the Treasury lacked money for the 
soldiers? The Consul convened the Nobles. ‘Ye/ 
said he, ‘ that have the offices and dignity should be 
the first to pay for them.’ Ye heed me, my friends; 
the nobles took the hint, they found the money — the 
army was paid. This example is not lost on you. I 
have made you the leaders of my force, Rome hath 
showered her honours on you. Your generosity shall 
commence the example which the Romans shall thus 
learn of strangers. Ye gaze at me, my friends! I 
read your noble souls — and thank ye beforehand. Ye 
have the dignity and the office ; ye have also the 
wealth ! — pay the hirelings, pay them ! ” * 

Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of Brettone, he 
could not have been more astounded than at this sim- 
ple suggestion of Rienzi’s. He lifted his eyes to the 
Senator’s face, and saw there that smile which he had 
already, bold as he was, learned to dread. He felt 
himself fairly sunk in the pit he had digged for an- 
other. There was that in the Senator-Tribune’s brow 
that told him to refuse was to declare open war, and 
the moment was not ripe for that. 

“Ye accede,” said Rienzi ; “ ye have done well.” 

The Senator clapped his hands — his guard appeared. 

“ Summon the head constables of the soldiery.” 

The brothers still remained dumb. 

* See the anonymous biographer, lib. ii. cap. 19. 


556 


RIENZI 


The constables entered. 

“ My friends,” said Rienzi, “ Messere Brettone and 
Messere Arimbaldo have my directions to divide 
amongst your force a thousand florins. This evening 
we encamp beneath Palestrina.” 

The constables withdrew in visible surprise. Rienzi 
gazed a moment on the brothers, chuckling within 
himself — for his sarcastic humour enjoyed his triumph. 
“ You lament not your devotion, my friends /” 

“ No,” said Brettone, rousing himself ; “ the sum but 
trivially swells our debt.” 

“ Frankly said — your hands once more ! — the good 
people of Tivoli expect me in the Piazza — they re- 
quire some admonitions. Adieu till noon.” 

When the door closed on Rienzi, Brettone struck 
the handle of his sword fiercely — “ The Roman laughs 
at us,” said he. “ But let Walter de Montreal once 
appear in Rome, and the proud jester shall pay us 
dearly for this.” 

“ Hush ! ” said Arimbaldo, “ walls have ears, and 
that imp of Satan, young Villani, seems to me ever 
at our heels ! ” 

“ A thousand florins ! I trust his heart hath as 
many drops,” growled the chafed Brettone, unheeding 
his brother. 

The soldiers were paid — the army marched — the 
eloquence of the Senator had augmented his force by 
volunteers from Tivoli, and wild and half-armed peas- 
antry joined his standard from the Campagna and the 
neighbouring mountains. 

Palestrina was besieged: Rienzi continued dexter- 
ously to watch the brothers of Montreal. Under pre- 
text of imparting to the Italian volunteers the ad- 
vantage of their military science, he separated them 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 557 

from their mercenaries, and assigned to them the com- 
mand of the less disciplined Italians, with whom, he 
believed, they could not venture to tamper. He him- 
self assumed the lead of the Northmen — and, despite 
themselves, they were fascinated by his artful, yet dig- 
nified affability, and the personal courage he displayed 
in some sallies of the besieged Barons. But as the 
huntsmen upon all the subtlest windings of their prey, 
— so pressed the relentless and speeding Fates upon 
Cola di Rienzi ! 


CHAPTER VI 

THE EVENTS GATHER TO THE END 

While this the state of the camp of the besiegers, 
Luca di Savelli and Stefanello Colonna were closeted 
with a stranger, who had privately entered Palestrina 
on the night before the Romans pitched their tents be- 
neath its walls. This visitor, who might have some- 
what passed his fortieth year, yet retained, scarcely 
diminished, the uncommon beauty of form and coun- 
tenance for which his youth had been remarkable. 
But it was no longer that character of beauty which 
has been described in his first introduction to the 
reader. It was no longer the almost woman delicacy 
of feature and complexion, or the highborn polish, 
and graceful suavity of manner, which distinguished 
Walter de Montreal : a life of vicissitude and war had 
at length done its work. His bearing was now abrupt 
and imperious, as that of one accustomed to rule wild 
spirits, and he had exchanged the grace of persuasion 
for the sternness of command. His athletic form had 
grown more spare and sinewy, and instead of the brow 


558 


RIENZI 


half shaded by fair and clustering curls, his forehead, 
though yet but slightly wrinkled, was completely bald 
at the temples ; and by its unwonted height, increased 
the dignity and manliness of his aspect. The bloom 
of his complexion was faded, less by outward exposure 
than inward thought, into a bronzed and settled pale- 
ness ; and his features seemed more marked and prom- 
inent, as the flesh had somewhat sunk from the 
contour of the cheek. Yet the change suited the 
change of age and circumstance ; and if the Provengal 
now less realized the idea of the brave and fair knight- 
errant, he but looked the more what the knight-errant 
had become — the sagacious counsellor and the mighty 
leader. 

“ You must be aware,” said Montreal, continuing 
a discourse which appeared to have made great im- 
pression on his companions, “ that in this contest be- 
tween yourselves and the Senator, I alone hold the 
balance. Rienzi is utterly in my power — my brothers 
the leaders of his army ; myself, his creditor. It rests 
with me to secure him on the throne, or to send him 
to the scaffold. I have but to give the order, and the 
Grand Company enter Rome ; but without their agen- 
cy methinks if you keep faith with me, our purpose 
can be effected.” 

“ In the meanwhile, Palestrina is besieged by your 
brothers ! ” said Stefanello, sharply. 

“ But they have my orders to waste their time before 
its walls. Do you not see, that by this very siege, 
fruitless, as, if I will, it shall be, Rienzi loses fame 
abroad, and popularity in Rome.” 

“ Sir Knight,” said Luca di Savelli, “ you speak as 
a man versed in the profound policy of the times ; and 
under all the circumstances which menace us, your 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 559 

proposal seems but fitting and reasonable. On the 
one hand, you undertake to restore us and the other 
Barons to Rome; and to give Rienzi to the Stair- 
case of the Lion ” 

“ Not so, not so,” replied Montreal quickly. “ I 
will consent either so to subdue and cripple his power, 
as to render him a puppet in our hands, a mere shadow 
of authority — or, if his proud spirit chafe at its cage, 
to give it once more liberty amongst the wilds of 
Germany. I would fetter or banish him, but not de- 
stroy ; unless ” (added Montreal, after a moment’s 
pause) “ fate absolutely drives us to it. Power should 
not demand victims; but to secure it, victims may be 
necessary.” 

“ I understand your refinements,” said Luca di Sa- 
velli, with his icy smile, “ and am satisfied. The Bar- 
ons once restored, our palaces once more manned, and 
I am willing to take the chance of the Senator’s 
longevity. This service you promise to effect?” 

“ I do.” 

“ And, in return, you demand our assent to your 
enjoying the rank of Podesta for five years?” 

“ You say right.” 

“ I, for one, accede to the terms,” said the Savelli : 
“ there is my hand ; I am wearied of these brawls, even 
amongst ourselves, and think that a Foreign Ruler 
may best enforce order; the more especially, if like 
you, Sir Knight, one whose birth and renown are such 
as to make him comprehend the difference between 
Barons and Plebeians.” 

“ For my part,” said Stefanello, “ I feel that we have 
but a choice of evils — I like not a foreign Podesta; 
but I like a plebeian Senator still less; — there too is 
my hand, Sir Knight.” 


560 


RIENZI 


“ Noble Signors/’ said Montreal, after a short pause, 
and turning his piercing gaze from one to the other 
with great deliberation, “ our compact is sealed ; one 
word by way of codicil. Walter de Montreal is no 
Count Pepin of Minorbino ! Once before, little dream- 
ing, I own, that the victory would be so facile, I in- 
trusted your cause and mine to a deputy ; your cause 
he promoted, mine he lost. He drove out the Tribune, 
and then suffered the Barons to banish himself. This 
time I see to my own affairs ; and, mark you, I have 
learned in the Grand Company one lesson ; viz. never 
to pardon spy or deserter, of whatever rank. Your 
forgiveness for the hint. Let us change the theme. 
So ye detain in your fortress my old friend the Baron 
di Castello ? ” 

“Ay,” said Luca di Savelli; for Stefanello, stung 
by Montreal’s threat, which he dared not openly re- 
sent, preserved a sullen silence ; “ Ay, he is one noble 
the less to the Senator’s council.” 

“ You act wisely. I know his views and temper; at 
present dangerous to our interests. Yet use him well, 
I entreat you ; he may hereafter serve us. And now, 
my Lords, my eyes are weary, suffer me to retire. 
Pleasant dreams of the New Revolution to us all?” 

“ By your leave, noble Montreal, we will attend you 
to your couch,” said Luca di Savelli. 

“ By my troth, and ye shall not. I am no Tribune 
to have great Signors for my pages ; but a plain gen- 
tleman, and a hardy soldier : your attendants will con- 
duct me to whatever chamber your hospitality assigns 
to one who could sleep soundly beneath the rudest 
hedge under your open skies.” 

Savelli, however, insisted on conducting the Po- 
desta that was to be, to his apartment. He then re- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 561 

turned to Stefanello, whom he found pacing the saloon 
with long and disordered strides. 

“ What have we done, Savelli ? ” said he quickly ; 
“ sold our city to a barbarian ! ” 

“ Sold ! ” said Savelli ; “ to my mind it is the other 
part of the contract in which we have played our share. 
We have bought, Colonna, not sold — bought our lives 
from yon army ; bought our power, our fortunes, our 
castles, from the Demagogue Senator ; bought what 
is better than all, triumph and revenge. Tush, Colon- 
na, see you not that if we had balked this great war- 
rior, we had perished? Leagued with the Senator, 
the Grand Company would have marched to Rome ; 
and, whether Montreal assisted or murdered Rienzi, 
(for methinks he is a Romulus, who would brook no 
Remus) we had equally been undone. Now, we have 
made our own terms, and our shares are equal. Nay, 
the first steps to be taken are in our favour. Rienzi 
is to be snared, and we are to enter Rome.” 

“ And then the Provencal is to be Despot of the 
city.” 

“ Podesta, if you please. Podestas who offend the 
people are often banished, and sometimes stoned — 
Podestas who insult the nobles are often stilettoed, 
and sometimes poisoned,” said Savelli. “ ‘ Sufficient 
for the day is the evil thereof.’ Meanwhile, say noth- 
ing to the bear, Orsini. Such men mar all wisdom. 
Come, cheer thee, Stefanello.” 

“ Luca di Savelli, you have not such a stake in Rome 
as I have,” said the young Lord, haughtily; “no Po- 
desta can take from you the rank of the first Signor 
of the Italian metropolis 1 ” 

“ An you had said so to the Orsini, there would 
have been drawing of swords,” said Savelli. “ But 
36 


562 


RIENZI 


cheer thee, I say; is not our first care to destroy 
Rienzi, and then, between the death of one foe and 
the rise of another, are there not such preventives as 
Ezzelino da Romano has taught to wary men ? Cheer 
thee, I say ; and, next year, if we but hold together, 
Stefanello Colonna and Luca di Savelli will be joint 
Senators of Rome, and these great men food for 
worms ! ” 

While thus conferred the Barons, Montreal, ere he 
retired to rest, stood gazing from the open lattice of 
his chamber over the landscape below, which slept in 
the autumnal moonlight, while at a distance gleamed, 
pale and steady, the lights round the encampment of 
the besiegers. 

“ Wide plains and broad valleys,” thought the war- 
rior, “ soon shall ye repose in peace beneath a new 
sway, against which no petty tyrant shall dare rebel. 
And ye, white walls of canvas, even while I gaze — ye 
admonish me how realms are won. Even as, of old, 
from the Nomad tents was built up the stately Baby- 
lon,* that 4 was not till the Assyrian founded it for 
them that dwell in the wilderness ; ’ so by the new 
Ishmaelites of Europe shall a race, undreamt of now, 
be founded ; and the camp of yesterday, be the city of 
to-morrow. Verily, when, for one soft offence, the 
Pontiff thrust me from the bosom of the Church, little 
guessed he what enemy he raised to Rome ! How sol- 
emn is the night! — how still the heavens and earth! — 
the very stars are as hushed, as if intent on the events 
that are to pass below! So solemn and so still feels 
mine own spirit, and an awe unknown till now warns 
me that I approach the crisis of my daring fate ! ” 

* Isaiah c. xxii. 


BOOK X 

THE LION OF BASALT 


Ora voglio contare la morte del Tribuno.” — Vit. di Cola di 
Rienzi, lib. ii. cap. 24. 

Now will I narrate the death of the Tribune .” — Life of Cola 
di Rienzi. 


CHAPTER I 

THE CONJUNCTION OF HOSTILE PLANETS IN THE 
HOUSE OF DEATH 

On the fourth day of the siege, and after beating 
back to those almost impregnable walls the soldiery 
of the Barons, headed by the Prince of the Orsini, 
the Senator returned to his tent, where despatches from 
Rome awaited him. He ran his eye hastily over them, 
till he came to the last; yet each contained news that 
might have longer delayed the eye of a man less in- 
ured to danger. From one he learned that Albornoz, 
whose blessing had confirmed to him the rank of Sen- 
ator, had received with special favour the messengers 
of the Orsini and Colonna. He knew that the Car- 
dinal, whose views connected him with the Roman 
Patricians, desired his downfall ; but he feared not Al- 
bornoz; perhaps in his secret heart he wished that 
any open aggression from the Pontiff’s Legate might 
throw him wholly on the people. 

He learned further, that, short as had been his ab- 

563 


564 


RIENZI 


sence, Pandulfo di Guido had twice addressed the 
populace, not in favour of the Senator, but in artful 
regrets of the loss to the trade of Rome in the ab- 
sence of her wealthiest nobles. 

“ For this, then, he has deserted me,” said Rienzi 
to himself. “ Let him beware ! ” 

The tidings contained in the next, touched him 
home: Walter de Montreal had openly arrived in 
Rome. The grasping and lawless bandit, whose rapine 
filled with a robber’s booty every bank in Europe — 
whose Company was the army of a King — whose am- 
bition, vast, unprincipled, and profound, he so well 
knew — whose brothers were in his camp — their trea- 
son already more than suspected ; — Walter de Mon- 
treal was in Rome! 

The Senator remained perfectly aghast at this new 
peril ; and then said, setting his teeth as in a vice, 

“ Wild tiger, thou art in the Lion’s den ! ” Then 
pausing, he broke out again, “ One false step, Walter 
de Montreal, and all the mailed hands of the Grand 
Company shall not pluck thee from the abyss ! But 
what can I do? Return to Rome — the plans of Mon- 
treal unpenetrated — no accusation against him ! On 
what pretence can I with honour raise the siege? To 
leave Palestrina, is to give a triumph to the Barons 
— to abandon Adrian, to degrade my cause. Yet, while 
away from Rome, every hour breeds treason and dan- 
ger. Pandulfo, Albornoz, Montreal — all are at work 
against me. A keen and trusty spy, now ; — ha, well 
thought of — Villani ! — What, ho — Angelo Villani ! ” 
The young chamberlain appeared. 

“ I think,” said Rienzi, “ to have often heard, that 
thou art an orphan ? ” 

“ True, my Lord ; the old Augustine nun who reared 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 565 

my boyhood, has told me again and again that my 
parents are dead. Both noble, my Lord; but I am 
the child of shame. And I say it often, and think of 
it ever, in order to make Angelo Villani remember 
that he has a name to win.” 

“ Young man, serve me as you have served, and 
if I live you shall have no need to call yourself an 
orphan. Mark me ! I want a friend — the Senator of 
Rome wants a friend — only one friend — gentle Heav- 
en ! only one ! ” 

Angelo sank on his knee, and kissed the mantle of 
his Lord. 

“ Say a follower. I am too mean to be Rienzi’s 
friend.” 

“ Too mean ! — go to ! — there is nothing mean be- 
fore God, unless it be a base soul under high titles. 
With me, boy, there is but one nobility, and Nature 
signs its charter. Listen : thou hearest daily of Walter 
de Montreal, brother to these Provencals — great cap- 
tain of great robbers ? ” 

“ Ay, and I have seen him, my Lord.” 

“ Well, then, he is in Rome. Some daring thought 
— some well-supported and deep-schemed villany, 
could alone make that bandit venture openly into an 
Italian city, whose territories he ravaged by fire and 
sword a few months back. But his brothers have lent 
me money — assisted my return ; — for their own ends, 
it is true : but the seeming obligation gives them real 
power. Thece Northern swordsmen would cut my 
throat if the Great Captain bade them. He counts 
on my supposed weakness. I know him of old. I 
suspect — nay I read, his projects ; but I cannot prove 
them. Without proof, I cannot desert Palestrina in 
order to accuse and seize him. Thou art shrewd, 


RIENZI 


566 

thoughtful, acute ; — couldst thou go to Rome ? — watch 
day and night his movements — see if he receive mes- 
sengers from Albornoz or the Barons — if he confer 
with Pandulfo di Guido ; — watch his lodgment, I say, 
night and day. He affects no concealment : your task 
will be less difficult than it seems. Apprise the Signora 
of all you learn. Give me your news daily. Will you 
undertake this mission ? ” 

“ I will, my Lord.” 

“ To horse, then, quick ! — and mind — save the wife 
of my bosom, I have no confidant in Rome.” 


CHAPTER II 

MONTREAL AT ROME. — HIS RECEPTION OF ANGELO 
VILLANI 

The danger that threatened Rienzi by the arrival 
of Montreal was indeed formidable. The Knight of 
St. John, having marched his army into Lombardy, 
had placed it at the disposal of the Venetian State in 
its war with the Archbishop of Milan. For this service 
he received an immense sum : while he provided win- 
ter quarters for his troop, for whom he proposed am- 
ple work in the ensuing spring. Leaving Palestrina 
secretly and in disguise, with but a slender train, which 
met him at Tivoli, Montreal repaired to Rome. His 
ostensible object was, partly to congratulate the Sen- 
ator on his return, partly to receive the monies lent 
to Rienzi by his brother. 

His secret object we have partly seen ; but not con- 
tented with the support of the Barons, he trusted, by 
the corrupting means of his enormous wealth, to form 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 567 

a third party in support of his own ulterior designs. 
Wealth, indeed, in that age and in that land, was 
scarcely less the purchaser of diadems than it had been 
in the later days of the Roman Empire. And in many 
a city torn by hereditary feuds, the hatred of faction 
rose to that extent, that a foreign tyrant, willing and 
able to expel one party, might obtain at least the tem- 
porary submission of the other. His after-success was 
greatly in proportion to his power to maintain his state 
by a force which was independent of the citizens, and 
by a treasury which did not require the odious re- 
cruit of taxes. But more avaricious than ambitious, 
more cruel than firm, it was by griping exaction, or 
unnecessary bloodshed, that such usurpers usually 
fell. 

Montreal, who had scanned the frequent revolutions 
of the time with a calm, and investigating eye, trusted 
that he should be enabled to avoid both these errors : 
and, as the reader has already seen, he had formed 
the profound and sagacious project of consolidating 
his usurpation by an utterly new race of nobles, who, 
serving him by the feudal tenure of the North, and 
ever ready to protect him, because in so doing they 
protected their own interests, should assist to erect, 
not the rotten and unsupported fabric of a single tyr- 
anny, but the strong fortress of a new, hardy, and com- 
pact Aristocratic State. Thus had the great dynasties 
of the North been founded ; in which a King, though 
seemingly curbed by the Barons, was in reality sup- 
ported by a common interest, whether against a sub- 
dued population or a foreign invasion. 

Such were the vast schemes — extending into yet 
wider fields of glory and conquest, bounded only by 
the Alps — with which the Captain of the Grand Com- 


568 


RIENZI 


pany beheld the columns and arches of the Seven- 
hilled City. 

No fear disturbed the long current of his thoughts. 
His brothers were the leaders of Rienzi’s hireling army 
— that army were his creatures. Over Rienzi himself 
he assumed the right of a creditor. Thus against one 
party he deemed himself secure. For the friends of 
the Pope, he had supported himself with private, 
though cautious letters from Albornoz, who desired 
only to make use of him for the return of the Roman 
Barons; and with the heads of the latter we have al- 
ready witnessed his negotiations. Thus was he fitted, 
as he thought, to examine, to tamper with all parties, 
and to select from each the materials necessary for his 
own objects. 

The open appearance of Montreal excited in Rome 
no inconsiderable sensation. The friends of the Bar- 
ons gave out that Rienzi was in league with the Grand 
Company; and that he was to sell the imperial city 
to the plunder and pillage of Barbarian robbers. The 
effrontery with which Montreal (against whom, more 
than once, the Pontiff had thundered his bulls) ap- 
peared in the Metropolitan City of the Church, was 
made yet more insolent by the recollection of that 
stern justice which had led the Tribune to declare open 
war against all the robbers of Italy : and this audacity 
was linked with the obvious reflection, that the brothers 
of the bold Provencal were the instruments of Rienzi’s 
return. So quickly spread suspicion through the city, 
that Montreal’s presence alone would in a few weeks 
have sufficed to ruin the Senator. Meanwhile, the 
natural boldness of Montreal silenced every whisper 
of prudence ; and, blinded by the dazzle of his hopes, 
the Knight of St. John, as if to give double impor- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 569 

tance to his coming, took up his residence in a sump- 
tuous palace, and his retinue rivalled, in the splendour 
of garb and pomp, the display of Rienzi himself in his 
earlier and more brilliant power. 

Amidst the growing excitement, Angelo Villani ar- 
rived at Rome. The character of this young man had 
been formed by his peculiar circumstances. He pos- 
sessed qualities which often mark the Illegitimate as 
with a common stamp. He was insolent — like most 
of those who hold a doubtful rank ; and while ashamed 
of his bastardy, was arrogant of the supposed nobility 
of his unknown parentage. The universal ferment and 
agitation of Italy at that day rendered ambition the 
most common of all the passions, and thus ambition, 
in all its many shades and varieties, forces itself into 
our delineations of character in this history. Though 
not for Angelo Villani were the dreams of the more 
lofty and generous order of that sublime infirmity, he 
was strongly incited by the desire and resolve to rise. 
He had warm affections and grateful impulses; and 
his fidelity to his patron had been carried to a virtue : 
but from his irregulated and desultory education, and 
the reckless profligacy of those with whom, in ante- 
chambers and guard-rooms, much of his youth had 
been passed, he had neither high principles nor an en- 
lightened honour. Like most Italians, cunning and 
shrewd, he scrupled not at any deceit that served a 
purpose or a friend. His strong attachment to Rienzi 
had been unconsciously increased by the gratification 
of pride and vanity, flattered by the favour of so cele- 
brated a man. Both self-interest and attachment urged 
him to every effort to promote the views and safety 
of one at once his benefactor and patron ; and on 
undertaking his present mission, his only thought was 


570 


RIENZI 


to fulfil it with the most complete success. Far more 
brave and daring than was common with the Italians, 
something of the hardihood of an Ultra-Montane race 
gave nerve and vigour to his craft ; afnd from what 
his art suggested his courage never shrunk. 

When Rienzi had first detailed to him the objects 
of his present task, he instantly called to mind his 
adventure with the tall soldier in the crowd at Avi- 
gnon. “ If ever thou wantest a friend, seek him in 
Walter de Montreal,” were words that had often rung 
in his ear, and they now recurred to him with prophetic 
distinctness. He had no doubt that it was Montreal 
himself whom he had seen. Why the Great Captain 
should have taken this interest in him, Angelo little 
cared to conjecture. Most probably it was but a crafty 
pretence — one of the common means by which the 
Chief of the Grand Company attracted to himself the 
youths of Italy, as well as the warriors of the North. 
He only thought now how he could turn the Knight’s 
promise to account. What more easy than to present 
himself to Montreal — remind him of the words — enter 
his service — and thus effectually watch his conduct? 
The office of spy was not that which would have 
pleased every mind, but it shocked not the fastidious- 
ness of Angelo Villani ; and the fearful hatred with 
which his patron had often spoken of the avaricious 
and barbarian robber — the scourge of his native land, 
— had infected the young man, who had much of the 
arrogant and mock patriotism of the Romans, with a 
similar sentiment. More vindictive even than grate- 
ful, he bore, too, a secret grudge against Montreal’s 
brother, whose rough address had often wounded his 
pride : and, above all, his early recollections of the 
fear and execration in which Ursula seemed ever to 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 571 

hold the terrible Fra Moreale, impressed him with a 
vague belief of some ancient wrong to himself or his 
race, perpetrated by the Provengal, which he was not 
ill-pleased to have the occasion to avenge. In truth, 
the words of Ursula, mystic and dark as they were in 
their denunciation, had left upon Villani’s boyish im- 
pressions an unaccountable feeling of antipathy and 
hatred to the man it was now his object to betray. 
For the rest, every device seemed to him decorous 
and justifiable, so that it saved his master, served his 
country, and advanced himself. 

Montreal was alone in his chamber when it was an- 
nounced to him that a young Italian craved an audi- 
ence. Professionally open to access, he forthwith gave 
admission to the applicant. 

The Knight of St. John instantly recognised the 
page he had encountered at Avignon ; and when An- 
gelo Villani said, with easy boldness, “ I have come 
to remind Sir Walter de Montreal of a promise ” 

The Knight interrupted him with cordial frankness 
— “ Thou needest not — I remember it. Dost thou 
now require my friendship?” 

“ I do, noble Signor ! ” answered Angelo ; “ I know 
not where else to seek a patron.” 

“ Canst thou read and write ? I fear me not.” 

“ I have been taught those arts,” replied Villani. 

“ It is well. Is thy birth gentle? ” 

“ It is.” 

“ Better still ; — thy name ? ” 

“ Angelo Villani.” 

“ I take thy blue eyes and low broad brow,” said 
Montreal, with a slight sigh, “ in pledge of thy truth. 
Henceforth, Angelo Villani, thou art in the list of my 
secretaries. Another time thou shalt tell me more of 


572 


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thyself. Thy service dates from this day. For the 
rest, no man ever wanted wealth who served Walter 
de Montreal ; nor advancement, if he served him faith- 
fully. My closet, through yonder door, is thy waiting 
room. Ask for, and send hither, Lusignan of Lyons ; 
he is my chief scribe, and will see to thy comforts, and 
instruct thee in thy business.” 

Angelo withdrew — Montreal’s eye followed him. 

“ A strange likeness ! ” said he, musingly and sadly ; 
“ my heart leaps to that boy ! ” 


CHAPTER III 
Montreal’s banquet 

Some few days after the date of the last chapter, 
Rienzi received news from Rome, which seemed to 
produce in him a joyous and elated excitement. His 
troops still lay before Palestrina, and still the banners 
of the Barons waved over its unconquered walls. In 
truth, the Italians employed half their time in brawls 
amongst themselves; the Velletritrani had feuds with 
the people of Tivoli, and the Romans were still afraid 
of conquering the Barons ; — “ The hornet,” said they, 
“ stings worse after he is dead ; and neither an Orsini, 
a Savelli, nor a Colonna, was ever known to forgive.” 

Again and again had the captains of his army as- 
sured the indignant Senator that the fortress was im- 
pregnable, and that time and money were idly wasted 
upon the siege. Rienzi knew better, but he concealed 
his thoughts. 

He now summoned to his tent the brothers of 
Provence, and announced to them his intention of re- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 573 

turning instantly to Rome. “ The mercenaries shall 
continue the siege under our Lieutenant, and you, with 
my Roman Legion, shall accompany me. Your 
brother, Sir Walter, and I, both want your presence; 
we have affairs to arrange between us. After a few 
days I shall raise recruits in the city, and return.” 

This was what the brothers desired ; they approved, 
with evident joy, the Senator’s proposition. 

Rienzi next sent for the lieutenant of his body-guard, 
the same Riccardo Annibaldi whom the reader will 
remember in the earlier part of this work, as the an- 
tagonist of Montreal’s lance. This young man — one 
of the few nobles who espoused the cause of the Sen- 
ator — had evinced great courage and military ability, 
and promised fair (should Fate spare his life *) to 
become one of the best Captains of his time. 

“ Dear Annibaldi,” said Rienzi ; “ at length I can 
fulfil the project on which we have privately con- 
ferred. I take with me to Rome the two Provencal 
Captains — I leave you chief of the army. Palestrina 
will yield now — eh ! — ha, ha, ha ! — Palestrina will yield 
now ! ” 

“ By my right hand, I think so, Senator,” replied 
Annibaldi. “ These foreigners have hitherto only 
stirred up quarrels amongst ourselves, and if not cow- 
ards are certainly traitors ! ” 

“ Hush, hush, hush ! Traitors ! The learned Arim- 
baldo, the brave Brettone, traitors ! Fie on it ! No, 
no ; they are very excellent, honourable men, but not 
lucky in the camp; — not lucky in the camp; — better 
speed to them in the city! And now to business.” 

* It appears that this was the same Annibaldi who was 
afterwards slain in an affray Petrarch lauds his valour and 
laments his fate. 


574 


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The Senator then detailed to Annibaldi the plan he 
himself had formed for taking the town, and the mili- 
tary skill of Annibaldi at once recognised its feasi- 
bility. 

With his Roman troop and Montreal’s brothers, one 
at either hand, Rienzi then departed to Rome. 

That night Montreal gave a banquet to Pandulfo di 
Guido, and to certain of the principal citizens, whom 
one by one he had already sounded, and found hollow 
at heart to the cause of the Senator. 

Pandulfo sate at the right hand of the Knight of 
St. John, and Montreal lavished upon him the most 
courteous attentions. 

“ Pledge me in this — it is from the Vale of Chiana, 
near Monte Pulciano,” said Montreal. “ I think I 
have heard bookmen say (you know, Signor Pandulfo, 
we ought all to be bookmen now !) that the site was 
renowned of old. In truth, the wine hath a racy 
flavour.” 

“ I hear,” said Bruttini, one of the lesser Barons, 
(a stanch friend to the Colonna,) “ that in this respect 
the innkeeper’s son has put his book-learning to some 
use : he knows every place where the wine grows 
richest.” 

“ What ! the Senator is turned wine-bibber ! ” said 
Montreal, quaffing a vast goblet full ; “ that must un- 
fit him for business — ’tis a pity.” 

“Verily, yes,” said Pandulfo; “a man at the head 
of a state should be temperate — / never drink wine 
unmixed.” 

“ Ah,” whispered Montreal, “ if your calm good 
sense ruled Rome, then, indeed, the metropolis of 
Italy might taste of peace. Signor Vivaldi/’ — and the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 


575 


host turned towards a wealthy draper , — “ these dis- 
turbances are bad for trade.” 

“ Very, very!” groaned the draper. 

“ The Barons are your best customers,” quoth the 
minor noble. 

“ Much, much ! ” said the draper. 

“ ’Tis a pity that they are thus roughly expelled,” 
said Montreal, in a melancholy tone. “ Would it not 
be possible, if the Senator (/ drink his health) were 
less rash — less zealous, rather, — to unite free institu- 
tions with the return of the Barons? — such should be 
the task of a truly wise statesman.” 

“ It surely might be ‘possible,” returned Vivaldi ; 
“ the Savelli alone spend more with me than all the 
rest of Rome.” 

“ I know not if it be possible,” said Bruttini ; “ but 
I do know that it is an outrage to all decorum that 
an innkeeper’s son should be enabled to make a soli- 
tude of the palaces of Rome.” 

“ It certainly seems to indicate too vulgar a desire 
of mob favour,” said Montreal. “ However, I trust 
we shall harmonize all these differences. Rienzi, per- 
haps, — nay, doubtless, means well ! ” 

“ I would,” said Vivaldi, who had received his cue, 
“ that we might form a mixed constitution — Plebeians 
and Patricians, each in their separate order.” 

“ But,” said Montreal, gravely, “ so new an experi- 
ment would demand great physical force.” 

“ Why, true ; but we might call in an umpire — a for- 
eigner who had no interest in either faction — who 
might protect the new Buono Stato ; a Podesta, as 
we have done before — Brancaleone, for instance. How 
well and wisely he ruled ! that was a golden age for 
Rome. A Podesta for ever ! — that’s my theory.” 


5 7 6 


RIENZI 


“ You need not seek far for the president of your 
council,” said Montreal, smiling at Pandulfo ; “ a citi- 
zen at once popular, well-born, and wealthy, may be 
found at my right hand.” 

Pandulfo hemmed, and coloured. 

Montreal proceeded. “ A committee of trades might 
furnish an honourable employment to Signor Vivaldi ; 
and the treatment of all foreign affairs — the employ- 
ment of armies, & c., might be left to the Barons, with 
a more open competition, Signor di Bruttini, to the 
Barons of the second order than has hitherto been 
conceded to their birth and importance. Sirs, will you 
taste the Malvoisie ? ” 

“ Still,” said Vivaldi, after a pause — (Vivaldi antici- 
pated at least the supplying with cloth the whole of the 
Grand Company) — “ still, such a moderate and well- 
digested constitution would never be acceded to by 
Rienzi.” 

“ Why should it ? what need of Rienzi ? ” exclaimed 
Bruttini. “ Rienzi may take another trip to Bohemia.” 

“ Gently, gently,” said Montreal ; “ I do not despair. 
All open violence against the Senator would strength- 
en his power. No, no, humble him — admit the Bar- 
ons, and then insist on your own terms. Between the 
two factions you might then establish a fitting balance. 
And in order to keep your new constitution from the 
encroachment of either extreme, there are warriors 
and knights, too, who for a certain rank in the great 
city of Rome would maintain horse and foot at its 
service. We Ultra-Montanes are often harshly judged ; 
we are wanderers and Ishmaelites, solely because we 
have no honourable place of rest. Now, if / ” 

“ Ay, if you, noble Montreal ! ” said Vivaldi. 

The company remained hushed in breathless atten- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 5 77 

tion, when suddenly there was heard — deep, solemn, 
muffled, — the great bell of the Capitol! 

‘ k Hark ! ” said Vivaldi, “ the bell : it tolls for execu- 
tion : an unwonted hour ! ” 

“ Sure, the Senator has not returned ! ” exclaimed 
Pandulfo di Guido, turning pale. 

“ No, no,” quoth Bruttini, “ it is but a robber, 
caught two nights ago in Romagna. I heard that he 
was to die to-night.” 

At the word “ robber,” Montreal changed counte- 
nance slightly. The wine circulated — the bell contin- 
ued to toll — its suddenness over, it ceased to alarm. 
Conversation flowed again. 

“ What were you saying, Sir Knight ? ” said Vi- 
valdi. 

“ Why, let me think on’t ; — oh, speaking of the ne- 
cessity of supporting a new state by force, I said that 
if I ” 

“ Ah, that was it ! ” quoth Bruttini, thumping the 
table. 

“ If I were summoned to your aid — summoned, mind 
ye, and absolved by the Pope’s Legate of my former 
sins — (they weigh heavily on me, gentles) — I would 
myself guard your city from foreign foe and civil 
disturbance, with my gallant swordsmen. Not a 
Roman citizen should contribute a ‘ danaro ’ to the 
cost.” 

“ Viva Fra Moreale! ” cried Bruttini ; and the shout 
was echoed by all the boon companions. 

“ Enough for me,” continued Montreal, “ to expiate 
my offences. Ye know, gentlemen, my order is vowed 
to God and the Church — a warrior monk am I ! 
Enough for me to expiate my offences, I say, in the 
defence of the Holy City. Yet I, too, have my pri- 


37 


578 


RIENZI 


vate and more earthly views, — who is above them? 
I the bell changes its note ! ” 

“ It is but the change that preludes execution — the 
poor robber is about to die ! ” 

Montreal crossed himself, and resumed : — “ I am a 
knight and a noble,” said he, proudly ; “ the profession 
I have followed is that of arms; but — I will not dis- 
guise it — mine equals have regarded me as one who 
has stained his scutcheon by too reckless a pursuit of 
glory and of gain. I wish to reconcile myself with 
my order — to purchase a new name — to vindicate my- 
self to the Grand Master and the Pontiff. I have had 
hints, gentles, — hints, that I might best promote my 
interest by restoring order to the Papal metropolis. 
The Legate Albornoz (here is his letter) recommends 
me to keep watch upon the Senator.” 

“ Surely,” interrupted Pandulfo, “ I hear steps be- 
low.” 

“ The mob going to the robber’s execution,” said 
Bruttini ; “ proceed, Sir Knight ! ” 

“ And,” continued Montreal, surveying his audi- 
ence before he proceeded farther, “ what think ye — 
(I do but ask your opinion, wiser than mine) — what 
think ye, as a fitting precaution against too arbitrary 
a power in the Senator — what think ye of the re- 
turn of the Colonna, and the bold Barons of Pales- 
trina?” 

“ Here’s to their health ! ” cried Vivaldi, rising. 

As by a sudden impulse, the company rose. “ To 
the health of the besieged Barons ! ” was shouted 
aloud. 

“ Next, what if — (I do but humbly suggest) — what 
if you gave the Senator a colleague ? — it is no affront 
to him. It was but as yesterday that one of the Colon- 


i 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 579 

na, who was Senator, received a colleague in Bertoldo 
Orsini.” 

“ A most wise precaution,” cried Vivaldi. “ And 
where a colleague like Pandulfo di Guido ? ” 

“Viva Pandulfo di Guido!” cried the guests, and 
again their goblets were drained to the bottom. 

“ And if in this I can assist ye by fair words with the 
Senator, (ye know he owes me monies — my brothers 
have served him), command Walter de Montreal.” 

“ And if fair words fail ? ” said Vivaldi. 

“ The Grand Company — (heed me, ye are the coun- 
cillors) — the Grand Company is accustomed to forced 
marches ! ” 

“Viva Fra Moreale!” cried Bruttini and Vivaldi, 
simultaneously. “ A health to all, my friends,” con- 
tinued Bruttini ; “ a health to the Barons, Rome’s old 
friends ; to Pandulfo di Guido, the Senator’s new col- 
league ; and to Fra Moreale, Rome’s new Podesta.” 

“ The bell has ceased,” said Vivaldi, putting down 
his goblet. 

“ Heaven have mercy on the robber! ” added Brut- 
tini. 

Scarce had he spoken, ere three taps were heard 
at the door — the guests looked at each other in dumb 
amaze. 

“ New guests ! ” said Montreal. “ I asked some 
trusty friends to join us this evening. By my faith 
they are welcome ! Enter ! ” 

The door opened slowly ; three by three entered, in 
complete armour, the guards of the Senator. On they 
marched, regular and speechless. They surrounded 
the festive board — they filled the spacious hall, and the 
lights of the banquet were reflected upon their corse- 
lets as on a wall of steel. 


RIENZI 


580 

Not a syllable was uttered by the feasters, they were 
as if turned to stone. Presently the guards gave way, 
and Rienzi himself appeared. He approached the 
table, and folding his arms, turned his gaze deliber- 
ately from guest to guest, till at last, his eyes rested 
on Montreal, who had also risen, and who alone of 
the party had recovered the amaze of the moment. 

And, there, as these two men, each so celebrated, 
so proud, able, and ambitious, stood front to front — 
it was literally as if the rival Spirits of Force and In- 
tellect, Order and Strife, of the Falchion and the 
Fasces — the Antagonist Principles by which empires 
are ruled and empires overthrown, had met together, 
incarnate and opposed. They stood, both silent, — as 
if fascinated by each other’s gaze, — loftier in stature, 
and nobler in presence than all around. 

Montreal spoke first, and with a forced smile. 

“ Senator of Rome ! — dare I believe that my poor 
banquet tempts thee, and may I trust that these armed 
men are a graceful compliment to one to whom arms 
have been a pastime ? ” 

Rienzi answered not, but waved his hand to his 
guards. Montreal was seized on the instant. Again 
he surveyed the guests — as a bird from the rattle- 
snake, — shrunk Pandulfo di Guido, trembling, mo- 
tionless, aghast, from the glittering eye of the Sen- 
ator. Slowly Rienzi raised his fatal hand towards 
the unhappy citizen — Pandulfo saw — felt his doom, 
— shrieked, — and fell senseless in the arms of the 
soldiers. 

One other and rapid gla,nce cast the Senator round 
the board, and then, with a disdainful smile, as if 
anxious for no meaner prey, turned away. Not a 
breath had hitherto passed his lips — all had been dumb 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 581 

show — and his grim silence had imparted a more 
freezing terror to his unguessed-for apparition. Only, 
when he reached the door, he turned back, gazed upon 
the Knight of St. John’s bold and undaunted face, and 
said, almost in a whisper, “ Walter de Montreal ! — you 
heard the death-knell ! ” 


CHAPTER IV 

THE SENTENCE OF WALTER DE MONTREAL 

In silence the Captain of the Grand Company was 
borne to the prison of the Capitol. In the same build- 
ing lodged the rivals for the government of Rome; 
the one occupied the prison, the other the palace. The 
guards forebore the ceremony of fetters, and leaving 
a lamp on the table, Montreal perceived he was not 
alone, — his brothers had preceded him. 

“ We are happily met,” said the Knight of St. John ; 
“ we have passed together pleasanter nights than this 
is likely to be.” 

“Can you jest, Walter?” said Arimbaldo, half- 
weeping. “ Know you not that our doom is fixed ? 
Death scowls upon us.” 

“ Death ! ” repeated Montreal, and for the first time 
his countenance changed ; perhaps for the first time in 
his life he felt the thrill and agony of fear. 

“ Death ! ” he repeated again. “ Impossible ! He 
dare not, Brettone ; the soldiers, the Northmen ! — they 
will mutiny, they will pluck us back from the grasp of 
the headsman ! ” 

“ Cast from you so vain a hope,” said Brettone sul- 
lenly ; “ the soldiers are encamped at Palestrina.” 


582 


RIENZI 


“How! Dolt — fool! Came you then to Rome 
alone! Are we alone with this dread man?” 

“You are the dolt! Why came you hither?'’ an- 
swered the brother. 

“ Why, indeed ! but that I knew thou wast the Cap- 
tain of the army ; and — but thou said’st right — the 
folly is mine, to have played against the crafty Trib- 
une so unequal a brain as thine. Enough ! Re- 
proaches are idle. When were ye arrested ? ” 

“ At dusk — the instant we entered the gates of 
Rome. Rienzi entered privately.” 

“ Humph ! What can he know against me ? Who 
can have betrayed me? My secretaries are tried — all 
trustworthy — except that youth, and he so seemingly 
zealous — that Angelo Villani ! ” 

“ Villani ! Angelo Villani ! ” cried the brothers in 
a breath. “ Hast thou confided aught to him ? ” 

“ Why, I fear he must have seen — at least in part — 
my correspondence with you, and with the Barons — he 
was among my scribes. Know you aught of him ? ” 

“Walter, Heaven hath demented you!” returned 
Brettone. “ Angelo Villani is the favourite menial of 
the Senator.” 

“ Those eyes deceived me, then,” muttered Mon- 
treal, solemnly and shuddering ; “ and, as if her ghost 
had returned to earth, God smites me from the 
grave ! ” 

There was a long silence. At length Montreal, 
whose bold and sanguine temper was never long 
clouded, spoke again. 

“ Are the Senator’s coffers full ? — But that is impos- 
sible.” 

“ Bare as a Dominican’s.” 

“We are saved then. He shall name his price for 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 583 

our heads. Money must be more useful to him than 
blood.” 

And as if with that thought all further meditation 
were rendered unnecessary, Montreal doffed his man- 
tle, uttered a short prayer, and flung himself on a 
pallet in a corner of the cell. 

“ I have slept on worse beds,” said the Knight, 
stretching himself; and in a few minutes he was fast 
asleep. 

The brothers listened to his deep-drawn, but regu- 
lar breathing, with envy and wonder, but they were in 
no mood to converse. Still and speechless, they sate 
like statues beside the sleeper. Time passed on, and 
the first cold air of the hour that succeeds to mid- 
night crept through the bars of their cell. The bolts 
crashed, the door opened, six men-at-arms entered, 
passed the brothers, and one of them touched Mon- 
treal. 

“ Ha ! ” said he, still sleeping, but turning round. 
“ Ha ! ” said he, in the soft Provencal tongue, “ sweet 
Adeline, we will not rise yet — it is so long since we 
met ! ” 

“ What says he ? ” muttered the guard, shaking 
Montreal roughly. The Knight sprang up at once, 
and his hand grasped the head of his bed as for his 
sword. He stared round bewildered, rubbed his eyes, 
and then gazing on the guard, became alive to the 
present. 

“ Ye are early risers in the Capitol,” said he. 
“ What want* ye of me ? ” 

“ It waits you ! ” 

“ It! What?” said Montreal. 

“ The rack ! ” replied the soldier, with a malignant 
scowl. 


584 


RIENZI 


The Great Captain said not a word. He looked for 
one moment at the six swordsmen, as if measuring his 
single strength against theirs. His eye then wandered 
round the room. The rudest bar of iron would have 
been dearer to him than he had ever yet found the 
proofest steel of Milan. He completed his survey with 
a sigh, threw his mantle over his shoulders, nodded at 
his brethren, and followed the guard. 

In a hall of the Capitol, hung with the ominous silk 
of white rays on a blood-red ground, sate Rienzi and 
his councillors. Across a recess was drawn a black 
curtain. 

“ Walter de Montreal,” said a small man at the foot 
of the table, “ Knight of the illustrious order of St. 
John of Jerusalem ” 

“ And Captain of the Grand Company ! ” added the 
prisoner, in a firm voice. 

“ You stand accused of divers counts: robbery and 
murder, in Tuscany, Romagna, and Apulia ” 

“ For robbery and murder, brave men, and belted 
knights,” said Montreal, drawing himself up, “ would 
use the words ‘ war and victory/ To those charges 
I plead guilty! Proceed.” 

“ You are next accused of treasonable conspiracy 
against the liberties of Rome for the restoration of the 
proscribed Barons — and of traitorous correspondence 
with Stefanello Colonna at Palestrina.” 

“ My accuser? ” 

“ Step forth, Angelo Villani ! ” 

“ You are my betrayer, then? ” said Montreal stead- 
ily. “ I deserved this. I beseech you, Senator of 
Rome, let this young man retire. I confess my cor- 
respondence with the Colonna, and my desire to re- 
store the Barons.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 585 

Rienzi motioned to Villani, who bowed and with- 
drew. 

“ There rests only then for you, Walter de Montreal, 
to relate, fully and faithfully, the details of your con- 
spiracy.” 

“ That is impossible/’ replied Montreal, carelessly. 

“ And why? ” 

“ Because, doing as I please with my own life, I 
will not betray the lives of others.” 

“ Bethink thee — thou wouldst have betrayed the life 
of thy judge ! ” 

“ Not betrayed — thou didst not trust me.” 

“ The law, Walter de Montreal, hath sharp inquisi- 
tors — behold ! ” 

The black curtain was drawn aside, and the eye of 
Montreal rested on the executioner and the rack! 
His proud breast heaved indignantly. 

“ Senator of Rome,” said he, “ these instruments 
are for serfs and villeins. I have been a warrior and 
a leader ; life and death have been in my hands — I have 
used them as I listed ; but to mine equal and my foe, 
I never proffered the insult of the rack.” 

“ Sir Walter de Montreal,” returned the Senator, 
gravely, but with some courteous respect, “ your an- 
swer is that which rises naturally to the lips of brave 
men. But learn from me, whom fortune hath made 
thy judge, that no more for serf and villein, than for 
knight and noble, are such instruments the engines 
of law, or the tests of truth. I yielded but to the 
desire of these reverend councillors, to test thy nerves. 
But, wert thou the meanest peasant of the Campagna, 
before my judgment-seat thou needst not apprehend 
the torture. Walter de Montreal, amongst the Princes 
of Italy thou hast known, amongst the Roman Barons 


RIENZI 


586 

thou wouldst have aided, is there one who could make 
that boast ? ” 

“ I desired only,” said Montreal, with some hesita- 
tion, “ to unite the Barons with thee ; nor did I in- 
trigue against thy life!” 

Rienzi frowned — “ Enough,” he said, hastily. 
“ Knight of St. John, I know thy secret projects, sub- 
terfuge and evasion neither befit nor avail thee. If 
thou didst not intrigue against my life, thou didst in- 
trigue against the life of Rome. Thou hast but one 
favour left to demand on earth, it is the manner of thy 
death.” 

Montreal’s lip worked convulsively. 

“ Senator,” said he, in a low voice, “ may I crave 
audience with thee alone for one minute ? ” 

The councillors looked up. 

“ My Lord,” whispered the eldest of them, “ doubt- 
less he hath concealed weapons — trust him not.” 

“ Prisoner,” returned Rienzi, after a moment’s 
pause ; “ if thou seekest for mercy thy request is idle, 
and before my coadjutors I have no secret ! speak out 
what thou hast to say ! ” 

“ Yet listen to me,” said the prisoner, folding his 
arms, “ it concerns not my life, but Rome’s welfare.” 

“ Then,” said Rienzi, in an altered tone, “ thy re- 
quest is granted. Thou mayest add to thy guilt the 
design of the assassin, but for Rome I would dare 
greater danger.” 

So saying, he motioned to the councillors, who 
slowly withdrew by the door which had admitted Vil- 
lani, while the guards retired to the farthest extremity 
of the hall. 

“ Now, Walter de Montreal, be brief, for thy time is 
short.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 587 

“ Senator,” said Montreal, “ my life can but little 
profit you ; men will say that you destroyed your cred- 
itor in order to cancel your debt. Fix a sum upon my 
life, estimate it at the price of a monarch’s ; every florin 
shall be paid to you, and your treasury will be filled 
for five years to come. If the ‘ Buono Stato ’ depends 
on your government, what I have asked, your solic- 
itude for Rome will not permit you to refuse.” 

“ You mistake me, bold robber,” said Rienzi stern- 
ly ; “ your treason I could guard against, and therefore 
forgive; your ambition , never! Mark me, I know 
you ! Place your hand on your heart and say whether, 
could we change places, you, as Rienzi, would suffer 
all the gold of earth to purchase the life of Walter de 
Montreal? For men’s reading of my conduct, that 
must I bear; for mine own reading, mine eyes must 
be purged from corruption. I am answerable to God 
for the trust of Rome. And Rome trembles while 
the head of the Grand Company lives in the plotting 
brain and the daring heart of Walter de Montreal. 
Man — wealthy, great, and subtle as you are, your 
hours are numbered; with the rise of the sun you 
die ! ” 

Montreal’s eyes, fixed upon the Senator’s face, saw 
hope was over ; his pride and his fortitude returned to 
him. 

“ We have wasted words,” said he. “ I played for 
a great stake, I have lost, and must pay the forfeit! 
I am prepared. On the threshold of the Unknown 
World, the dark spirit of prophecy rushes into us. 
Lord Senator, I go before thee to announce — that in 
Heaven or in Hell — ere many days be over, room 
must be given to one mightier than I am ! ” 

As he spoke, his form dilated, his eye glared; and 


588 


RIENZI 


Rienzi, cowering as never had he cowered before, 
shrunk back, and shaded his face with his hand. 

“ The manner of your death ? ” he asked, in a hollow 
voice. 

“ The axe : it is that which befits knight and war- 
rior. For thee, Senator, Fate hath a less noble 
death.” 

“ Robber, be dumb ! ” cried Rienzi, passionately ; 
“ Guards, bear back the prisoner. At sunrise, Mon- 
treal ” 

“ Sets the sun of the scourge of Italy,” said the 
Knight, bitterly. “ Be it so. One request more ; the 
Knights of St. John claim affinity with the Augustine 
order ; .grant me an Augustine confessor.” 

“ It is granted ; and in return for thy denunciations, 
I, who can give thee no earthly mercy, will implore 
the Judge of all for pardon to thy soul ! ” 

“ Senator, I have done with man’s mediation. My 
brethren ? Their deaths are not necessary to thy 
safety or thy revenge ! ” 

Rienzi mused a moment : “ No,” said he, “ dangerous 
tools they were, but without the workman they may 
rust unharming. They served me once, too. Pris- 
oner, their lives are spared.” 


CHAPTER V 

THE DISCOVERY 

The Council was broken up — Rienzi hastened to his 
own apartments. Meeting Villani by the way, he 
pressed the youth’s hand affectionately. “ You have 
saved Rome and me from great peril,” said he ; “ the 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 589 

saints reward you ! ” Without tarrying for Villani’s 
answer, he hurried on. Nina, anxious and perturbed, 
awaited him in their chamber. 

“Not a-bed yet?” said he: “fie, Nina, even thy 
beauty will not stand these vigils.” 

“ I could not rest till I had seen thee. I hear (all 
Rome has heard it ere this) that thou hast seized Wal- 
ter de Montreal, and that he will perish by the heads- 
man.” 

“ The first robber that ever died so brave a death,” 
returned Rienzi, slowly unrobing himself. 

“ Cola, I have never crossed your schemes, — your 
policy, even by a suggestion. Enough for me to 
triumph in their success, to mourn for their failure. 
Now, I ask thee one request — spare me the life of this 
man.” 

“ Nina ” 

“ Hear me, — for thee I speak ! Despite his crimes, 
his valour and his genius have gained him admirers, 
even amongst his foes. Many a prince, many a state 
that secretly rejoices at his fall, will affect horror 
against his judge. Hear me further; his brothers 
aided your return ; the world will term you ungrate- 
ful. His brothers lent you monies, the world — (out 
on it!) — will term you ” 

“ Hold ! ” interrupted the Senator. “ All that thou 
sayest, my mind forestalled. But thou knowest me — 
to thee I have no disguise. No compact can bind 
Montreal's faith — no mercy win his gratitude. Before 
his red right hand truth and justice are swept away. 
If I condemn Montreal I incur disgrace and risk 
danger — granted. If I release him, ere the first show- 
ers of April, the chargers of the Northmen will neigh 
in the halls of the Capitol. Which shall I hazard in 


590 


RIENZI 


this alternative, myself or Rome ? Ask me no more — 
to bed, to bed ! ” 

“ Couldst thou read my forebodings, Cola, mystic — 
gloomy — unaccountable ? ” 

“ Forebodings ! — I have mine,” answered Rienzi, 
sadly, gazing on space, as if his thoughts peopled it 
with spectres. Then, raising his eyes to Heaven, he 
said with that fanatical energy which made much both 
of his strength and weakness — “ Lord, mine at least 
not the sin of Saul ! the Amalekite shall not be 
saved ! ” 

While Rienzi enjoyed a short, troubled, and restless 
sleep, over which Nina watched — unslumbering, anx- 
ious, tearful, and oppressed with dark and terrible 
forewarnings — the accuser was more happy than the 
judge. The last thoughts that floated before the 
young mind of Angelo Villani, ere wrapped in sleep, 
were bright and sanguine. He felt no honourable re- 
morse that he had entrapped the confidence of another 
— he felt only that his scheme had prospered, that his 
mission had been fulfilled. The grateful words of 
Rienzi rang in his ear, and hopes of fortune and power, 
beneath the sway of the Roman Senator, lulled him 
into slumber, and coloured all his dreams. 

Scarce, however, had he been two hours asleep, ere 
he was wakened by one of the attendants of the pal- 
ace, himself half awake. “ Pardon me, Messere Vil- 
lani, ” said he, “ but there is a messenger below from 
the good Sister Ursula; he bids thee haste instantly 
to the convent — she is sick unto death, and has tidings 
that crave thy immediate presence.” 

Angelo, whose morbid susceptibility as to his par- 
entage was ever excited by vague but ambitious hopes 
— started up, dressed hurriedly, and joining the mes- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 591 

senger below, repaired to the Convent. In the Court 
of the Capitol, and by the Staircase of the Lion, was 
already heard the noise of the workmen, and looking 
back, Villani beheld the scaffold, hung with black — 
sleeping cloudlike in the gray light of dawn — at the 
same time the bell of the Capitol tolled heavily. A 
pang shot athwart him. He hurried on ; — despite the 
immature earliness of the hour, he met groups of either 
sex, hastening along the streets to witness the execu- 
tion of the redoubted Captain of the Grand Company. 
The Convent of the Augustines was at the farthest 
extremity of that city, even then so extensive, and the 
red light upon the hill tops already heralded the rising 
sun, ere the young man reached the venerable porch. 
His name obtained him instant admittance. 

“ Heaven grant,” said an old Nun, who conducted 
him through a long and winding passage, “ that thou 
mayst bring comfort to the sick sister: she has pined 
for thee grievously since matins.” 

In a cell set apart for the reception of visitors (from 
the outward world), to such of the Sisterhood as re- 
ceived the necessary dispensation, sate the aged Nun. 
Angelo had only seen her once since his return to 
Rome, and since then disease had made rapid havoc on 
her form and features. And now, in her shroudlike 
garments and attenuated frame, she seemed by the 
morning light as a spectre whom day had surprised 
above the earth. She approached the youth, however, 
with a motion more elastic and rapid than seemed pos- 
sible to her worn and ghastly form. “ Thou art come,” 
she said. “ Well, well ! This morning after matins, my 
confessor, an Augustine, who alone knows the secrets 
of my life, took me aside, and told me that Walter 
de Montreal had been seized by the Senator — that he 


592 


RIENZI 


was adjudged to die, and that one of the Augustine 
brotherhood had been sent for to attend his last hours 
— is it so ? ” 

“ Thou wert told aright,” said Angelo, wonderingly. 
“ The man at whose name thou wert wont to shudder 
— against whom thou hast so often warned me — will 
die at sunrise.” 

“ So soon ! — so soon ! — Oh, Mother of Mercy ! fly ! 
thou art about the person of the Senator, thou hast 
high favour with him ; fly ! down on thy knees — and 
as thou hopest for God’s grace, rise not till thou hast 
won the Provencal’s life.” 

“ She raves,” muttered Angelo, with white lips. 

“ I do not rave, — boy ! ” screeched the Sister, wildly, 
“ know that my daughter was his leman. He dis- 
graced our house, — a house haughtier than his own. 
Sinner that I was, I vowed revenge. His boy — they 
had only one ! — was brought up in a robber’s camp ; — 
a life of bloodshed — a death of doom — a futurity of 
hell — were before him. I plucked the child from such 
a fate — I bore him away — I told the father he was 
dead — I placed him in the path to honourable fortunes. 
May my sin be forgiven me! Angelo Villani, thou 
art that child ; — Walter de Montreal is thy father. But 
now, trembling on the verge of death, I shudder at the 
vindictive thoughts I once nourished. Perhaps ” 

“ Sinner and accursed ! ” interrupted Villani, with a 
loud shout : — “ sinner and accursed thou art indeed ! 
Know that it was I who betrayed thy daughter’s lover ! 
— by the son’s treason dies the father ! ” 

Not a moment more did he tarry : he waited not to 
witness the effect his words produced. As one frantic 
— as one whom a fiend possesses or pursues — he 
rushed from the Convent — he flew through the deso- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 593 

late streets. The death-bell came, first indistinct, then 
loud, upon his ear. Every sound seemed to him like 
the curse of God; on — on — he passed the more de- 
serted quarter — crowds swept before him — he was 
mingled with the living stream, delayed, pushed 
back — thousands on thousands around, before him. 
Breathless, gasping, he still pressed on — he forced his 
way — he heard not — he saw not — all was like a dream. 
Up burst the sun over the distant hills; — the bell 
ceased ! From right to left he pushed aside the crowd 
— his strength was as a giant’s. He neared the fatal 
spot. A dead hush lay like a heavy air over the mul- 
titude. He heard a voice, as he pressed along, deep 
and clear — it was the voice of his father ! — it ceased — 
the audience breathed heavily — they murmured — they 
swayed to and fro. On, on, went Angelo Villani. 
The guards of the Senator stopped his way ; — he 
dashed aside their pikes — he eluded their grasp — he 
pierced the armed barrier — he stood on the Place of 
the Capitol. “ Hold, hold ! ” he would have cried — 
but horror struck him dumb. He beheld the gleam- 
ing axe — he saw the bended neck. Ere another breath 
passed his lips, a ghastly and trunkless face was raised 
on high — Walter de Montreal was no more ! 

Villani saw — swooned not — shrunk not — breathed 
not! — but he turned his eyes from that lifted head, 
dropping gore, to the balcony, in which, according to 
custom, sate, in solemn pomp, the Senator of Rome 

and the face of that young man was as the face of 

a demon ! 

“ Ha ! ” said he, muttering to himself, and recalling 
the words of Rienzi seven years before— “ Blessed art 
thou who hast no blood of kindred to avenge! ” 

38 


594 


RIENZI 


CHAPTER VI 

THE SUSPENSE 

Walter de Montreal was buried in the Church of 
St. Maria dell’ Araceli. But the “ evil that he did 
lived after him ! ” Although the vulgar had, until 
his apprehension, murmured against Rienzi for allow- 
ing so notorious a freebooter to be at large, he was 
scarcely dead ere they compassionated the object of 
their terror. With that singular species of piety which 
Montreal had always cultivated, as if a decorous and 
natural part of the character of a warrior, no sooner 
was his sentence fixed, than he had surrendered him- 
self to the devout preparation for death. With the 
Augustine Friar he consumed the brief remainder of 
the night in prayer and confession, comforted his 
brothers, and passed to the scaffold with the step of 
a hero and the self-acquittal of a martyr. In the won- 
derful delusions of the human heart, far from feeling 
remorse at a life of professional rapine and slaughter, 
almost the last words of the brave warrior were in 
proud commendation of his own deeds. “ Be valiant 
like me,” he said to his brothers, “ and remember that 
ye are now the heirs to the Humbler of Apulia, Tus- 
cany, and La Marca.”* 

This confidence in himself continued at the scaffold. 
“ I die,” he said, addressing the Romans — “ I die con- 
tented, since my bones shall rest in the Holy City of 

* “ Pregovi che vi amiate e siate valorosi al mondo, come 
fui io, che mi feci fare obbedienza a la Puglia, Toscana, e a 
La Marca.” — Vit. di Cola di Rienzi, lib. ii. cap. 22. “ I pray 

you love one another, and be valorous as was I, who made 
Apulia, Tuscany and La Marca own obedience to me .” — Life 
of Cola di Rienzi . 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 595 

St. Peter and St. Paul, and the Soldier of Christ shall 
have the burial-place of the Apostles. But I die un- 
justly. My wealth is my crime — the poverty of your 
state my accuser. Senator of Rome, thou mayst 
envy my last hour — men like Walter de Montreal per- 
ish not unavenged/’ So saying, he turned to the East, 
murmured a brief prayer, knelt down deliberately, and 
said as to himself, “ Rome guard my ashes ! — Earth 
my memory — Fate my revenge; — and, now, Heaven 
receive my soul ! — Strike ! ” At the first blow, the 
head was severed from the body. 

His treason but imperfectly known, the fear of him 
forgotten, all that remained of the recollection of Wal- 
ter de Montreal * in Rome, was admiration for his 
heroism, and compassion for his end. The fate of 
Pandulfo di Guido, which followed some days after- 
wards, excited a yet deeper, though more quiet, senti- 
ment, against the Senator. “ He was once Rienzi’s 
friend!” said one man; “He was an honest, upright 
citizen ! ” muttered another ; “ He was an advocate of 
the people ! ” growled Cecco del Vecchio. But the 
Senator had wound himself up to a resolve to be in- 
flexibly just, and to regard every peril to Rome as 
became a Roman. Rienzi remembered that he had 
never confided but he had been betrayed ; he had 
never forgiven but to sharpen enmity. He was amidst 
a ferocious people, uncertain friends, wily enemies; 

* The military renown and bold exploits of Montreal are 
acknowledged by all the Italian authorities. One of them 
declares that since the time of Caesar, Italy had never known 
so great a Captain. The biographer of Rienzi, forgetting all 
the offences of the splendid and knightly robber, seems to 
feel only commiseration for his fate. He informs us, more- 
over, that at Tivoli one of his servants (perhaps pur friend, 
Rodolf of Saxony), hearing his death, died of grief the fol- 
lowing day. 


RIENZI 


596 

and misplaced mercy would be but a premium to con- 
spiracy. Yet the struggle he underwent was visible in 
the hysterical emotions he betrayed. He now wept 
bitterly, now laughed wildly. “ Can I never again 
have the luxury to forgive ? ” said he. The coarse 
spectators of that passion deemed it, — some imbecility, 
some hypocrisy. But the execution produced the 
momentary effect intended. All sedition ceased, ter- 
ror crept throughout the city, order and peace rose to 
the surface; but beneath, in the strong expression of 
a contemporaneous writer, “ Lo mormorito queta- 
mente suonava.”* 

On examining dispassionately the conduct of Rienzi 
at this awful period of his life, it is scarcely possible to 
condemn it of a single error in point of policy. Cured 
of his faults, he exhibited no unnecessary ostentation 
— he indulged in no exhibitions of intoxicated pride — 
that gorgeous imagination rather than vanity, which 
had led the Tribune into spectacle and pomp, was now 
lulled to rest, by the sober memory of grave vicissi- 
tudes, and the stern calmness of a maturer intellect. 
Frugal, provident, watchful, self-collected, “ never was 
seen,” observes no partial witness, “ so extraordinary 
a man.”f “In him was concentrated every thought for 
every want of Rome.” Indefatigably occupied, he in- 
spected, ordained, regulated all things ; in the city, in 
the army, for peace, or for war. But he was feebly 
supported, and those he employed were lukewarm and 
lethargic. Still his arms prospered. Place after place, 
fortress after fortress, yielded to the Lieutenant of the 
Senator : and the cession of Palestrina itself was hour- 
ly expected. His art and address were always strik- 

* “ The murmur quietly sounded.” 

t Vit. di Cola di Rienzi, lib. ii. c. 23. 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 597 

ingly exhibited in difficult situations, and the reader 
cannot fail to have noticed how conspicuously they 
were displayed in delivering himself from the iron 
tutelage of his foreign mercenaries. Montreal exe- 
cuted, his brothers imprisoned, (though their lives 
were spared,) a fear that induced respect was stricken 
into the breasts of those bandit soldiers. Removed 
from Rome, and, under Annibaldi, engaged against the 
Barons, constant action and constant success, withheld 
those necessary fiends from falling on their Master; 
while Rienzi, willing to yield to the natural antipathy 
of the Romans, thus kept the Northmen from all con- 
tact with the city ; and, as he boasted, was the only 
chief in Italy who reigned in his palace guarded only 
by his citizens. 

Despite his perilous situation — despite his suspi- 
cions, and his fears, no wanton cruelty stained his 
stern justice — Montreal and Pandulfo di Guido were 
the only state victims he demanded. If, according to 
the dark Machiavelism of Italian wisdom, the death of 
those enemies was impolitic, it was not in the act, but 
the mode of doing it. A prince of Bologna, or of 
Milan would have avoided the sympathy excited by 
the scaffold, and the drug or the dagger would have 
been the safer substitute for the axe. But with all 
his faults, real and imputed, no single act of that foul 
and murtherous policy, which made the science of the 
more fortunate princes of Italy, ever advanced the 
ambition or promoted the security of the Last of 
the Roman Tribunes. Whatever his errors, he lived 
and died as became a man, who dreamed the vain 
but glorious dream, that in a corrupt and dastard 
populace he could revive the genius of the old 
Republic. 


598 


RIENZI 


Of all who attended on the Senator, the most as- 
siduous and the most honoured was still Angelo 
Villani. Promoted to a high civil station, Rienzi felt 
it as a return of youth, to find one person entitled to 
his gratitude ; — he loved and confided in the youth as 
a son. Villani was never absent from his side, except 
in intercourse with the various popular leaders in the 
various quarters of the city; and in this intercourse 
his zeal was indefatigable — it seemed even to prey 
upon his health ; and Rienzi chid him fondly, when- 
ever starting from his own reveries, he beheld the ab- 
stracted eye and the livid paleness which had suc- 
ceeded the sparkle and bloom of youth. 

Such chiding the young man answered only by the 
same unvarying words. 

“ Senator, I have a great trust to fulfil ; ” — and at 
these words he smiled. 

One day Villani, while with the Senator, said rather 
abruptly, “ Do you remember, my Lord, that before 
Viterbo, I acquitted myself so in arms, that even the 
Cardinal d’ Albornoz was pleased to notice me ? ” 

“ I remember your valour well, Angelo ; but why 
the question ? ” 

“ My Lord, Bellini, the Captain of the Guard of 
the Capitol, is dangerously ill.” 

“ I know it.” 

“ Whom can my Lord trust at the post ? ” 

“ Why, the Lieutenant.” 

“ What ! — a soldier that has served under the 
Orsini ! ” 

“True. Well! there is Tommaso Filangieri.” 

“ An excellent man ; but is he not kin by blood to 
Pandulfo di Guido ? ” 

“ Ay — is he so ? It must be thought of. Hast thou 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 599 

any friend to name ? ” said the Senator, smiling, “ Me- 
thinks thy cavils point that way.” 

“ My Lord,” replied Villani, colouring ; “ I am too 
young, perhaps ; but the post is one that demands 
fidelity more than it does years. Shall I own it? — 
My tastes are rather to serve thee with my sword than 
with my pen.” 

“Wilt thou, indeed, accept the office? It is of less 
dignity and emolument than the one you hold; and 
you are full young to lead these stubborn spirits.” 

“ Senator, I led taller men than they are to the as- 
sault at Viterbo. But, be it as seems best to your 
superior wisdom. Whatever you do, I pray you to be 
cautious. If you select a traitor to the command of 
the Capitol Guard ! — I tremble at the thought ! ” 

“ By my faith, thou dost turn pale at it, dear boy ; 
thy affection is a sweet drop in a bitter draught. 
Whom can I choose better than thee? — thou shalt 
have the post, at least during Bellini’s illness. I will 
attend to it to-day. The business, too, will less fatigue 
thy young mind than that which now employs thee. 
Thou art over-laboured in our cause.” 

“ Senator, I can but repeat my usual answer — I have 
a great trust to fulfil ! ” 


CHAPTER VII 

THE TAX 

These formidable conspiracies quelled, the Barons 
nearly subdued, and three parts of the Papal territory 
reunited to Rome, Rienzi now deemed he might safely 
execute one of his favourite projects for the preserva- 


6oo 


RIENZI 


tion of the liberties of his native city; and this was 
to raise and organise in each quarter of Rome a Ro- 
man Legion. Armed in the defence of their own in- 
stitutions, he thus trusted to establish amongst her 
own citizens the only soldiery requisite for Rome. 

But ' so base were the tools with which this great 
man was condemned to work out his noble schemes, 
that none could be found to serve their own country, 
without a pay equal to that demanded by foreign hire- 
lings. With the insolence so peculiar to a race that 
has once been great, each Roman said, “ Am I not 
better than a German? — Pay me, then, accordingly.” 

The Senator smothered his disgust — he had learned 
at last to know that the age of the Catos was no more. 
From a daring enthusiast, experience had converted 
him into a practical statesman. The Legions were 
necessary to Rome — they were formed — gallant their 
appearance and faultless their caparisons. How were 
they to be paid? There was but one means to main- 
tain Rome — Rome must be taxed. A gabelle was put 
upon wine and salt. 

The Proclamation ran thus : — 

“ Romans ! raised to the rank of your Senator, my 
whole thought has been for your liberties and welfare ; 
already Treason defeated in the City, our banners 
triumphant without, attest the favour with which the 
Deity regards men who seek to. unite liberty with law. 
Let us set an example to Italy and the World! Let 
us prove that the Roman sword can guard the Roman 
Forum ! In each Rione of the City is provided a 
Legion of the Citizens, collected from the traders and 
artisans of the town; they allege that they cannot 
leave their callings without remuneration. Your Sen- 
ator calls upon you willingly to assist in your own de- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 601 


fence. He has given you liberty ; he has restored to 
you peace : your oppressors are scattered over the 
earth. He asks you now to preserve the treasures you 
have gained. To be free, you must sacrifice some- 
thing; for freedom, what sacrifice too great? Con- 
fident of your support, I at length, for the first time, 
exert the right entrusted to me by office — and for 
Rome’s salvation I tax the Romans ! ” 

Then followed the announcement of the gabelle. 

The proclamation was set up in the public thorough- 
fares. Round one of the placards a crowd assembled. 
Their gestures were vehement and unguarded — their 
eyes sparkled — they conversed low, but eagerly. 

“ He dares to tax us, then ! Why, the Barons or 
the Pope could not do more than that ! ” 

“ Shame ! shame ! ” cried a gaunt female ; “ we, who 
were his friends ! How are our little ones to get 
bread?” 

“ He should have seized the Pope’s money ! ” quoth 
an honest wine-vender. 

“ Ah ! Pandulfo di Guido would have maintained an 
army at his own cost. He was a rich man. What in- 
solence in the innkeeper’s son to be a Senator ! ” 

“We are not Romans if we suffer this ! ” said a de- 
serter from Palestrina. 

“ Fellow-citizens ! ” exclaimed gruffly a tall man, 
who had hitherto been making, a clerk read to him the 
particulars of the tax imposed, and whose heavy brain 
at length understood that wine was to be made dearer 
— “Fellow-citizens, we must have a new revolution! 
This is indeed gratitude ! What have we benefited by 
restoring this man ! Are we always to be ground to 
the dust ? To pay — pay — pay ! Is that all we are fit 
for?” 


602 


RIENZI 


“Hark to Cecco del Vecchio!” 

“ No, no ; not now,” growled the smith. “ To-night 
the artificers have a special meeting. We’ll see — we’ll 
see ! ” 

A young man, muffled in a cloak, who had not been 
before observed, touched the smith. 

“ Whoever storms the Capitol the day after to-mor- 
row at the dawn,” he whispered, “ shall find the guards 
absent ! ” 

He was gone before the smith could look round. 

The same night Rienzi, retiring to rest, said to An- 
gelo Villani — “ A bold but necessary measure this of 
mine ! how do the people take it ? ” 

“ They murmur a little, but seem to recognise the 
necessity. Cecco del Vecchio was the loudest grum- 
bler, but is now the loudest approver.” 

“ The man is rough ; he once deserted me ; — but 
then that fatal excommunication ! He and the Ro- 
mans learned a bitter lesson in that desertion, and ex- 
perience has, I trust, taught them to be honest. Well, 
if this tax be raised quietly, in two years Rome will 
be again the Queen of Italy her army manned — her 
Republic formed ; and then — then ” 

“Then what, Senator?” 

“ Why then, my Angelo, Cola di Rienzi may die in 
peace ! There is a want which a profound experience 
of power and pomp brings at last to us — a want gnaw- 
ing as that of hunger, wearing as that of sleep! — my 
Angelo , it is the want to die! ” 

“ My Lord, I would give this right hand,” cried 
Villani, earnestly, “ to hear you say you were attached 
to life ! ” 

“ You are a good youth, Angelo ! ” said Rienzi, as 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 603 

he passed to Nina’s chamber; and in her smile and 
wistful tenderness, forgot for a while — that he was a 
great man! 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE THRESHOLD OF THE EVENT 

The next morning the Senator of Rome held high 
Court in the Capitol. From Florence, from Padua, 
from Pisa, even from Milan, (the dominion of the Vis- 
conti,) from Genoa, from Naples, — came Ambassadors 
to welcome his return, or to thank him for having 
freed Italy from the freebooter De Montreal. Venice 
alone, who held in her pay the Grand Company, stood 
aloof. Never had Rienzi seemed more prosperous 
and more powerful, and never had he exhibited a more 
easy and cheerful majesty of demeanour. 

Scarce was the audience over, when a messenger 
arrived from Palestrina. The town had surrendered, 
the Colonna had departed, and the standard of the 
Senator waved from the walls of the last hold of the 
rebellious Barons. Rome might now at length con- 
sider herself free, and not a foe seemed left to menace 
the repose of Rienzi. 

The Court dissolved. The Senator, elated and joy- 
ous, repaired towards his private apartments, previous 
to the banquet given to the Ambassadors. Villani met 
him with his wonted sombre aspect. 

“ No sadness to-day, my Angelo,” said the Senator, 
gaily ; “ Palestrina is ours ! ” 

“ I am glad to hear such news, and to see my Lord 
of so fair a mien,” answered Angelo. “ Does he not 
now desire life ? ” 


604 


RIENZI 


“ Till Roman virtue revives, perhaps — yes ! But 
thus are we fools of Fortune ; — to-day glad — to-mor- 
row dejected ! ” 

“ To-morrow,” repeated Villani, mechanically : “ Ay 
— to-morrow perhaps dejected!” 

“ Thou playest with my words, boy,” said Rienzi, 
half angrily, as he turned away. 

But Villani heeded not the displeasure of his Lord. 

The banquet was thronged and brilliant ; and Rienzi 
that day, without an effort, played the courteous host. 

Milanese, Paduan, Pisan, Neapolitan, vied with each 
other in attracting the smiles of the potent Senator. 
Prodigal were their compliments — lavish their prom- 
ises of support. No monarch in Italy seemed more 
securely throned. 

The banquet was over (as usual on state occasions) 
at an early hour; and Rienzi, somewhat heated with 
wine, strolled forth alone from the Capitol. Bending 
his solitary steps towards the Palatine, he saw the pale 
and veil-like mists that succeed the sunset, gather over 
the wild grass which waves above the Palace of the 
Caesars. On a mound of ruins (column and arch 
overthrown) he stood, with folded arms, musing and 
intent. In the distance lay the melancholy tombs of 
the Campagna, and the circling hills, crested with the 
purple hues soon to melt beneath the starlight. Not 
a breeze stirred the dark cypress and unwaving pine. 
There was something awful in the stillness of the 
skies, hushing the desolate grandeur of the earth be- 
low. Many and mingled were the thoughts that swept 
over Rienzi’s breast: memory was busy at his heart. 
How often, in his youth, had he trodden the same spot ! 
— what visions had he nursed ! — what hopes conceived ! 
In the turbulence of his later life, Memory had long 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 605 

slept; but at that hour, she reasserted her shadowy 
reign with a despotism that seemed prophetic. He 
was wandering — a boy, with his young brother, hand 
in hand, by the river side at eve : anon he saw a pale 
face and gory side, and once more uttered his impre- 
cations of revenge ! His first successes, his virgin 
triumphs, his secret love, his fame, his power, his re- 
verses, the hermitage of Maiella, the dungeon of Avi- 
gnon, the triumphal return to Rome, — all swept across 
his breast with a distinctness as if he were living those 
scenes again ! — and now ! — he shrunk from the present , 
and descended the hill. The moon, already risen, 
shed her light over the Forum, as he passed through 
its mingled ruins. By the Temple of Jupiter, two 
figures suddenly emerged; the moonlight fell upon 
their faces, and Rienzi recognised Cecco del Vecchio 
and Angelo Villani. They saw him not; but, eagerly 
conversing, disappeared by the Arch of Trajan. 

“ Villani ! ever active in my service ! ” thought the 
Senator ; “ methinks this morning I spoke to him 
harshly — it was churlish in me ! ” 

He re-entered the place of the Capitol — he stood by 
the staircase of the Lion ; there was a red stain upon 
the pavement, unobliterated since Montreal’s execu- 
tion, and the Senator drew himself aside with an in- 
ward shudder. Was it the ghastly and spectral light 
of the Moon, or did the face of that old Egyptian 
Monster wear an aspect that was as of life? The 
stony eyeballs seemed bent upon him with a malig- 
nant scowl; and as he passed on, and looked behind, 
they appeared almost preternaturally to follow his 
steps. A chill, he knew not why, sunk into his heart. 
He hastened to regain his palace. The sentinels made 
way for him. 


6o 6 


RIENZI 


“ Senator,” said one of them, doubtingly, “ Messere 
Angelo Villani is our new captain — we are to obey his 
orders ? ” 

“ Assuredly,” returned the Senator, passing on. 
The man lingered uneasily, as if he would have spoken, 
but Rienzi observed it not. Seeking his chamber, he 
found Nina and Irene waiting for him. His heart 
yearned to his wife. Care and toil had of late driven 
her from his thoughts, and he felt it remorsefully, as 
he gazed upon her noble face, softened by the solici- 
tude of untiring and anxious love. 

“ Sweetest,” said he, winding his arms around her 
tenderly ; “ thy lips never chide me, but thine eyes 
sometimes do! We have been apart too long. 
Brighter days dawn upon us, when I shall have leisure 
to thank thee for all thy care. And you, my fair sis- 
ter, you smile on me ! — ah, you have heard that your 
lover, ere this, is released by the cession of Palestrina, 
and to-morrow’s sun will see him at your feet. De- 
spite all the cares of the day, I remembered thee, my 
Irene, and sent a messenger to bring back the blush 
to that pale cheek. Come, come, we shall be happy 
again ! ” And with that domestic fondness common 
to him, when harsher thoughts permitted, he sate him- 
self beside the two persons dearest to his hearth and 
heart. 

“ So happy — if we could have many hours like 
this! ” murmured Nina, sinking on his breast. “ Yet 
sometimes I wish ” 

“ And I too,” interrupted Rienzi ; “ for I read thy 
woman’s thought — I too sometimes wish that fate had 
placed us in the lowlier valleys of life ! But it may 
come yet! Irene wedded to Adrian — Rome married 
to Liberty — and then, Nina, methinks you and I 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 607 


would find some quiet hermitage, and talk over old 
gauds and triumphs, as of a summer’s dream. Beauti- 
ful, kiss me ! Couldst thou resign these pomps ? ” 

“ For a desert with thee, Cola ! ” 

“ Let me reflect,” resumed Rienzi ; “ is not to-day 
the seventh of October? Yes! on the seventh, be it 
noted, my foes yielded to my power ! Seven ! my fated 
number, whether ominous of good or evil ! Seven 
months did I reign as Tribune — seven years was I 
absent as an exile ; to-morrow, that sees me without 
an enemy, completes my seventh week of return ! ” 

“ And seven was the number of the crowns the Ro- 
man Convents and the Roman Council awarded thee, 
after the ceremony which gave thee the knighthood of 
the Santo Spirito!” \ said Nina, adding, with woman’s 
tender wit, “ the brightest association of all ! ” 

“ Follies seem these thoughts to others, and to phi- 
losophy, in truth, they are so,” said Rienzi ; “ but all 
my life long, omen and type and shadow have linked 
themselves to action and event : and the atmosphere 
of other men hath not been mine. Life itself a riddle, 
why should riddles amaze us? The Future! — what 
mystery in the very word ! Had we lived all through 
the Past,sii\ce Time was, our profoundest experience of 
a thousand ages could not give us a guess of the events 

* There was the lapse of one year between the release of 
Rienzi from Avignon, and his triumphal return to Rome: a 
year chiefly spent in the campaign of Albornoz. 

t This superstition had an excuse in strange historical 
coincidences; and the number seven was indeed to Rienzi 
what the 3rd of September was to Cromwell. The ceremony 
of the seven crowns which he received after his knighthood, 
on the nature of which ridiculous ignorance has been shown 
by many recent writers, was, in fact, principally a religious 
and typical donation, (symbolical of the gifts of the Holy 
Spirit,) conferred by the heads of convents — and that part of 
the ceremony which was political, was republican, not regal. 


6o8 


RIENZI 


that wait the very moment we are about to enter! 
Thus deserted by Reason, what wonder that we recur 
to the Imagination, on which, by dream and symbol, 
God sometimes paints the likeness of things to come ? 
Who can endure to leave the Future all unguessed, 
and sit tamely down to groan under the fardel of the 
Present? No, no! that which the foolish-wise call 
Fanaticism, belongs to the same part of us as Hope. 
Each but carries us onward — from a barren strand to 
a glorious, if unbounded sea. Each is the yearning 
for the Great Beyond, which attests our immortality. 
Each has its visions and chimeras — some false, but some 
true! Verily, a man who becomes great is often but 
made so by a kind of sorcery in his own soul — a Pythia 
which prophesies that he shall be great — and so ren- 
ders the life one effort to fulfil the warning! Is this 
folly ? — it were so, if all things stopped at the grave ! 
But perhaps the very sharpening, and exercising, and 
elevating the faculties here — though but for a bootless 
end on earth — may be designed to fit the soul, thus 
quickened and ennobled, to some high destiny beyond 
the earth ! Who can tell ? not I ! Let us pray ! ” 

While the Senator was thus employed, Rome in her 
various quarters presented less holy and quiet scenes. 

In the fortress of the Orsini, lights flitted to and 
fro, through the gratings of the great court. Angelo 
Villani might be seen stealing from the postern-gate. 
Another hour, and the Moon was high in heaven ; 
toward the ruins of the Colosseum, men, whose dress 
bespoke them of the lowest rank, were seen creeping 
from lanes and alleys, two by two ; from these ruins 
glided again the form of the son of Montreal. Later 
yet — the Moon is sinking — a gray light breaking in 
the East — and the gates of Rome, by St. John of Lat- 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 609 

eran, are open ! Villani is conversing with the sen- 
tries ! The Moon has set — the mountains are dim 
with a mournful and chilling haze — Villani is before 
the palace of the Capitol — the only soldier there! 
Where are the Roman legions that were to guard alike 
the freedom and the deliverer of Rome? 


CHAPTER THE LAST 

THE CLOSE OF THE CHASE 

It was the morning of the 8th of October, 1354. 
Rienzi, who rose betimes, stirred restlessly in his bed. 
“ It is yet early/’ he said to Nina, whose soft arm was 
round his neck ; “ none of my people seem to be astir. 
Howbeit, my day begins before theirs .” 

“ Rest yet, my Cola ; you want sleep.” 

“ No ; I feel feverish, and this old pain in the side 
torments me. I have letters to write.” 

“ Let me be your secretary, dearest,” said Nina. 

Rienzi smiled affectionately as he rose ; he repaired 
to his closet adjoining his sleeping apartment, and 
used the bath, as was his wont. Then dressing himself, 
he returned to Nina, who, already loosely robed, sate 
by the writing-table, ready for her office of love. 

“ How still are all things ! ” said Rienzi. “ What a 
cool and delicious prelude, in these early hours, to the 
toilsome day.” 

Leaning over his wife, he then dictated different let- 
ters, interrupting the task at times by such observa- 
tions as crossed his mind. 

“ So, now to Annibaldi ! By the way, young Adrian 
should join us to-day ; how I rejoice for Irene’s sake ! ” 


39 


6io 


RIENZI 


“ Dear sister — yes ! she loves, — if any, Cola, can so 
love, — as we do.” 

“ Well, but to your task, my fair scribe. Ha ! what 
noise is that ? I hear an armed step — the stairs creak 
— some one shouts my name.” 

Rienzi flew to his sword! the door was thrown 
rudely open, and a figure in complete armour ap- 
peared within the chamber. 

“How! what means this?” said Rienzi, standing 
before Nina, with his drawn sword. 

The intruder lifted his visor — it was Adrian Co- 
lonna. 

“ Fly, Rienzi ! — hasten, Signora ! Thank Heaven, 
I can save ye yet! Myself and train released by the 
capture of Palestrina, the pain of my wound detained 
me last night at Tivoli. The town was filled with 
armed men — not thine, Senator. I heard rumours 
that alarmed me. I resolved to proceed onward — 
I reached Rome, the gates of the city were wide 
open ! ” 

“ How!” 

“ Your guard gone. Presently I came upon a band 
of the retainers of the Savelli. My insignia, as a Co- 
lonna, misled them. I learned that this very hour 
some of your enemies are within the city, the rest are 
on their march — the people themselves arm against 
you. In the obscurer streets I passed through, the 
mob were already forming. They took me for thy 
foe, and shouted. I came hither — thy sentries have 
vanished. The private door below is unbarred and 
open. Not a soul seems left in thy palace. Haste — 
fly — save thyself! — Where is Irene?” 

“ The Capitol deserted ! — impossible ! ” cried Rienzi. 
He strode across the chambers to the ante-room, 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 6 u 


where his night-guard usually waited — it was empty! 
He passed hastily to Villani’s room — it was unten- 
anted ! He would have passed farther, but the doors 
were secured without. It was evident that all egress 
had been cut off, save by the private door below, and 
that had been left open to admit his murtherers ! 

He returned to his room — Nina had already gone to 
rouse and prepare Irene, whose chamber was on the 
other side, within one of their own. 

“ Quick, Senator ! ” said Adrian. “ Methinks there 
is yet time. We must make across to the Tiber. I 
have stationed my faithful squires and Northmen 
there. A boat waits us.” 

“ Hark ! ” interrupted Rienzi, whose senses had of 
late been preternaturally quickened. “ I hear a dis- 
tant shout — a familiar shout, ‘ Viva 1’ Popolo ! ’ Why, 
so say I ! These must be friends.” 

“ Deceive not thyself ; thou hast scarce a friend at 
Rome.” 

“ Hist ! ” said Rienzi, in a whisper ; “ save Nina — 
save Irene. I cannot accompany thee.” 

“ Art thou mad?” 

“ No ! but fearless. Besides, did I accompany, I 
might but destroy you all. Were I found with you, 
you would be massacred with me. Without me ye 
are safe. Yes, even the Senator’s wife and sister have 
provoked no revenge. Save them, noble Colonna! 
Cola di Rienzi puts his trust in God alone ! ” 

By this time Nina had returned; Irene with her. 
Afar was heard the tramp — steady — slow — gathering 
— of the fatal multitude. 

“ Now, Cola,” said Nina, with a bold and cheerful 
air, and she took her husband’s arm, while Adrian 
had already found his charge in Irene. 


6l2 


RIENZI 


“ Yes, now, Nina!” said Rienzi; “at length we 
part ! If this is my last hour — in my last hour I pray 
God to bless and shield thee ! for verily, thou hast been 
my exceeding solace — provident as a parent, tender as 
a child, the smile of my hearth, the — the ” 

Rienzi was almost unmanned. Emotions, deep, 
conflicting, unspeakably fond and grateful, literally 
choked his speech. 

“ What ! ” cried Nina, clinging to his breast, and 
parting her hair from her eyes, as she sought his 
averted face. “ Part ! — never ! This is my place — all 
Rome shall not tear me from it ! ” 

Adrian, in despair, seized her hand, and attempted 
to drag her thence. 

“ Touch me not, sir ! ” said Nina, waving her arm 
with angry majesty, while her eyes sparkled as a 
lioness, whom the huntsmen would sever from her 
young. “ I am the wife of Cola di Rienzi, the Great 
Senator of Rome, and by his side I will live and 
die ! ” 

“ Take her hence : quick ! — quick ! I hear the 
crowd advancing.” 

Irene tore herself from Adrian, and fell at the feet 
of Rienzi — she clasped his knees. 

“ Come, my brother, come ! Why lose these pre- 
cious moments? Rome forbids you to cast away a 
life in which her very self is bound up.” 

“ Right, Irene ; Rome is bound up with me, and we 
will rise or fall together ! — no more ! ” 

“ You destroy us all ! ” said Adrian, with generous 
and impatient warmth. “ A few minutes more and we 
are lost. Rash man ! it is not to fall by an infuriate 
mob that you have been preserved from so many 
dangers.” 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 613 

“ I believe it,” said the Senator, as his tall form 
seemed to dilate as with the greatness of his own soul. 
“ I shall triumph yet ! Never shall mine enemies — 
never shall posterity say that a second time Rienzi 
abandoned Rome ! Hark ! ‘ Viva 1 ’ Popolo ! ’ still the 
cry of ‘ The People/ That cry scares none but 
tyrants ! I shall triumph and survive ! ” 

“ And I with thee ! ” said Nina, firmly. Rienzi 
paused a moment, gazed on his wife, passionately 
clasped her to his heart, kissed her again and again, 
and then said, “ Nina, I command thee, — Go ! ” 

“ Never!” 

He paused. Irene’s face, drowned in tears, met his 
eyes. 

“We will all perish with you,” said his sister; “ you 
only, Adrian, you leave us ! ” 

“ Be it so,” said the Knight sadly ; “ we will 
all remain,” and he desisted at once from further 
effort. 

There was a dead but short pause, broken but by a 
convulsive sob from Irene. The tramp of the raging 
thousands sounded fearfully distinct. Rienzi seemed 
lost in thought — then lifting his head, he said, calmly, 
“Ye have triumphed — I join ye — I but collect these 
papers, and follow you. Quick, Adrian — save them !.” 
and he pointed meaningly to Nina. 

Waiting no other hint, the young Colonna seized 
Nina in his strong grasp — with his left hand he sup- 
ported Irene, who with terror and excitement was 
almost insensible. Rienzi relieved him of the lighter 
load — he took his sister in his arms, and descended 
the winding stairs. Nina remained passive — she heard 
her husband’s step behind, it was enough for her — 
she but turned once to thank him with her eyes. A 


6 14 


RIENZI 


tall Northman clad in armour stood at the open door. 
Rienzi placed Irene, now perfectly lifeless, in the 
soldier’s arms, and kissed her pale cheek in silence. 

“ Quick, my Lord,” said the Northman, “ on all 
sides they come ! ” So saying, he bounded down the 
descent with his burthen. Adrian followed with Nina ; 
the Senator paused one moment, turned back, and was 
in his room ere Adrian was aware that he had van- 
ished. 

Hastily he drew the coverlid from his bed, fastened 
it to the casement bars, and by its aid dropped (at a 
distance of several feet) into the balcony below. “ I 
will not die like a rat,” said he, “ in the trap they have 
set for me ! The whole crowd shall, at least, see and 
hear me.” 

This was the work of a moment. 

Meanwhile, Nina had scarcely proceeded six paces, 
before she discovered that she was alone with Adrian. 

“ Ha ! Cola ! ” she cried, “ where is he? he has 
gone ! ” 

“ Take heart, Lady, he has returned but for some 
secret papers he has forgotten. He will follow us 
anon.” 

“ Let us wait, then.” 

“ Lady,” said Adrian, grinding his teeth, “ hear you 
not the crowd ? — on, on ! ” and he flew with a swifter 
step. Nina struggled in his grasp — Love gave her 
the strength of despair. With a wild laugh she broke 
from him. She flew back — the door was closed — but 
unbarred — her trembling hands lingered a moment 
round the spring. She opened it, drew the heavy bolt 
across the panels, and frustrated all attempt from 
Adrian to regain her. She was on the stairs — she was 
in the room. Rienzi was gone! She fled, shrieking 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 615 

his name, through the State Chambers — all was deso- 
late. She found the doors opening on the various pas- 
sages that admitted to the rooms below barred with- 
out. Breathless and gasping, she returned to the 
chamber. She hurried to the casement — she per- 
ceived the method by which he had descended below 
— her brave heart told her of his brave design : — she 
saw they were separated, — “ But the same roof holds 
us,” she cried, joyously, “ and our fate shall be the 
same ! ” With that thought she sank in mute patience 
on the floor. 

Forming the generous resolve not to abandon the 
faithful and devoted pair without another effort, Adri- 
an had followed Nina, but too late — the door was 
closed against his efforts. The crowd marched on — 
he heard their cry change on a sudden — it was no 
longer “ Live the People ! ” but, “ Death to the 
Traitor ! ” His attendant had already disappeared, 
and waking now only to the danger of Irene, the 
Colonna in bitter grief turned away, lightly sped down 
the descent, and hastened to the river side, where the 
boat and his band awaited him. 

The balcony on which Rienzi had alighted was that 
from which he had been accustomed to address the 
people — it communicated with a vast hall used on sol- 
emn occasions for State festivals — and on either side 
were square projecting towers, whose grated case- 
ments looked into the balcony. One of these towers 
was devoted to the armoury, the other contained the 
prison of Brettone, the brother of Montreal. Beyond 
the latter tower was the general prison of the Capitol. 
For then the prison and the palace were in awful 
neighbourhood ! 

The windows of the Hall were yet open — and Rienzi 


6i6 


RIENZI 


passed into it from the balcony — the witness of the 
yesterday’s banquet was still there — the wine, yet un- 
dried, crimsoned the floor, and goblets of gold and 
silver shone from the recesses. He proceeded at once 
to the armoury, and selected from the various suits 
that which he himself had worn when, nearly eight 
years ago, he had chased the Barons from the gates of 
Rome. He arrayed himself in the mail, leaving only 
his head uncovered ; and then taking, in his right 
hand, from the wall, the great Gonfalon of Rome, re- 
turned once more to the hall. Not a man encoun- 
tered him. In that vast building, save the prisoners, 
and the faithful Nina, whose presence he knew not of — 
the Senator was alone. 

On they came, no longer in measured order, as 
stream after stream — from lane, from alley, from pal- 
ace and from hovel — the raging sea received new ad- 
ditions. On they came — their passions excited by 
their numbers — women and men, children and malig- 
nant age — in all the awful array of aroused, released, 
unresisted physical strength and brutal wrath ; “ Death 
to the traitor — death to the tyrant — death to him who 
has taxed the people ! ” “ Mora Vtraditore che ha fatta 

la gabella! — Mora! ” Such was the cry of the people 
— such the crime of the Senator! They broke over 
the low palisades of the Capitol — they filled with one 
sudden rush the vast space ; — a moment before so 
desolate, — now swarming with human beings athirst 
for blood! 

Suddenly came a dead silence, and on the balcony 
above stood Rienzi — his head was bared and the morn- 
ing sun shone over that lordly brow, and the hair 
grown gray before its time, in the service of that mad- 
dening multitude. Pale and erect he stood — neither 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 617 

fear nor anger, nor menace — but deep grief and high 
resolve — upon his features! A momentary shame — 
a momentary awe seized the crowd. 

He pointed to the Gonfalon, wrought with the Re- 
publican motto and arms of Rome, and thus he be- 
gan : — • 

“ I too am a Roman and a Citizen ! hear me ! ” 

“ Hear him not ! hear him not ! his false tongue can 
charm away our senses ! ” cried a voice louder than 
his own; and Rienzi recognised Cecco del Vecchio. 

“ Hear him not ! down with the tyrant ! ” cried a 
more shrill and youthful tone : and by the side of the 
artisan stood Angelo Villani. 

“ Hear him not ! death to the death-giver ! ” cried 
a voice close at hand, and from the grating of the 
neighbouring prison glared near upon him, as the 
eye of a tiger, the vengeful gaze of the brother of 
Montreal. 

Then from Earth to Heaven rose the roar — “ Down 
with the tyrant — down with him who taxed the 
people ! ” 

A shower of stones rattled on the mail of the Sena- 
tor, — still he stirred not. No changing muscle be- 
tokened fear. His persuasion of his own wonderful 
powers of eloquence, if he could but be heard, inspired 
him yet with hope ; he stood collected in his own in- 
dignant, but determined thoughts! — but the knowl- 
edge of that very eloquence was now his deadliest foe. 
The leaders of the multitude trembled lest he should be 
heard; “and doubtless ” says the contemporaneous 
biographer, u had he but spoken he would have changed 
them all, and the work been marred” 

The soldiers of the Barons had already mixed them- 
selves with the throng — more deadly weapons than 


6i8 


RIENZI 


stones aided the wrath of the multitude — darts and 
arrows darkened the air; and now a voice was heard 
shrieking, “ Way for the torches ! ” And red in the sun- 
light the torches tossed and waved, and danced to and 
fro, above the heads of the crowd, as if the fiends were 
let loose amongst the mob ! And what place in hell 
hath fiends like those a mad mob can furnish ? Straw, 
and wood and litter, were piled hastily round the great 
doors of the Capitol, and the smoke curled suddenly 
up, beating back the rush of the assailants. 

Rienzi was no longer visible, an arrow had pierced 
his hand — the right hand that supported the flag of 
Rome — the right hand that had given a constitution 
to the Republic. He retired from the storm into the 
desolate hall. 

He sat down; — and tears, springing from no weak 
and woman source, but tears from the loftiest fountain 
of emotion — tears that befit a warrior when his own 
troops desert him — a patriot when his countrymen 
rush to their own doom — a father when his children 
rebel against his love, — tears such as these forced 
themselves from his eyes and relieved, but they changed, 
his heart! 

“ Enough, enough ! ” he said, presently rising and 
dashing the drops scornfully away ; “ I have risked, 
dared, toiled enough for this dastard and degenerate 
race. I will yet baffle their malice — I renounce the 
thought of which they are so little worthy ! — Let 
Rome perish ! — I feel, at last, that I am nobler than my 
country ! — she deserves not so high a sacrifice ! ” 

With that feeling, Death lost all the nobleness of 
aspect it had before presented to him ; and he resolved, 
in very scorn of his ungrateful foes, in very defeat of 
their inhuman wrath, to make one effort for his life! 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 619 

He divested himself of his glittering; arms ; his address, 
his dexterity, his craft, returned to him. His active 
mind ran over the chances of disguise — of escape ; — 
he left the hall — passed through the humbler rooms, 
devoted to the servitors and menials — found in one 
of them a coarse working garb — indued himself with 
it — placed upon his head some of the draperies and 
furniture of the palace, as if escaping with them ; and 
said, with his old “ fantastico riso ” * — “ When all other 
friends desert me, I may well forsake myself ! ” With 
that he awaited his occasion. 

Meanwhile the flames burnt fierce and fast; the 
outer door below was already consumed; from the 
apartment he had deserted the fire burst out in volleys 
of smoke — the wood crackled — the lead melted — with 
a crash fell the severed gates — the dreadful entrance 
was opened to all the multitude — the proud Capitol of 
the Caesars was already tottering to its fall ! — Now was 
the time ! — he passed the flaming door — the smoulder- 
ing threshold ; — he passed the outer gate unscathed — 
he was in the middle of the crowd. “ Plenty of pillage 
within,” he said to the bystanders, in the Roman patois , 
his face concealed by his load — “ Suso, suso a gliu 
traditore! ” f The mob rushed past him — he went on 
— he gained the last stair descending into the open 
streets — he was at the last gate — liberty and life were 
before him. 

A soldier (one of his own) seized him. “ Pass not — 
whither goest thou ? ” 

“ Beware, lest the Senator escape disguised ! ” cried 
a voice behind — it was Villani’s. The concealing load 
was torn from his head — Rienzi stood revealed! 

* “ Fantastic smile or laugh. ” 
t “ Down, down with the traitor.” 


620 


RIENZI 


“ I am the Senator ! ” he said in a loud voice. 
“ Who dare touch the Representative of the People ? ” 

The multitude were round him in an instant. Not 
led, but rather hurried and whirled along, the Senator 
was borne to the Place of the Lion. With the intense 
glare of the bursting flames, the gray image reflected 
a lurid light, and glowed — (that grim and solemn mon- 
ument !) — as if itself of fire ! 

There arrived, the crowd gave way, terrified by the 
greatness of their victim. Silent he stood, and turned 
his face around ; nor could the squalor of his garb, nor 
the terror of the hour, nor the proud grief of detection, 
abate the majesty of his mien, or reassure the courage 
of the thousands who gathered, gazing, round him. 
The whole Capitol wrapped in fire, lighted with 
ghastly pomp the immense multitude. Down the long 
vista of the streets extended the fiery light and the 
serried throng, till the crowd closed with the gleaming 
standards of the Colonna — the Orsini — the Savelli! 
Her true tyrants were marching into Rome ! As the 
sound of their approaching horns and trumpets broke 
upon the burning air, the mob seemed to regain their 
courage. Rienzi prepared to speak; his first word 
was as the signal of his own death. 

“Die, tyrant!” cried Cecco del Vecchio: and he 
plunged his dagger in the Senator’s breast. 

“ Die, executioner of Montreal ! ” muttered Villani : 
“ thus the trust is fulfilled ! ” and his was the second 
stroke. Then as he drew back, and saw the artisan in 
all the drunken fury of his brute passion, tossing up 
his cap, shouting aloud, and spurning the fallen lion, — 
the young man gazed upon him with a look of wither- 
ing and bitter scorn, and said, while he sheathed his 
blade, and slowly turned to quit the crowd — 


THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 621 


“ Fool, miserable fool ! thou and these at least had 
no blood of kindred to avenge !” 

They heeded not his words — they saw him not de- 
part ; for as Rienzi, without a word, without a groan, 
fell to the earth, — as the roaring waves of the multi- 
tude closed over him, — a voice, shrill, sharp, and wild, 
was heard above all the clamour. At the casement of 
the Palace, (the casement of her bridal chamber,) Nina 
stood ! — through the flames that burst below and 
around, her face and outstretched arms alone visible ! 
Ere yet the sound of that thrilling cry passed from the 
air, down with a mighty crash thundered that whole 
wing of the Capitol, — a blackened and smouldering 
mass. 

At that hour, a solitary boat was gliding swiftly 
along the Tiber. Rome was at a distance, but the 
lurid glow of the conflagration cast its reflection upon 
the placid and glassy stream : fair beyond description 
was the landscape ! soft beyond all art of Painter and 
of Poet, the sunlight quivering over the autumnal 
herbage, and hushing into tender calm the waves of 
the golden River! 

Adrian’s eyes were strained towards the towers of 
the Capitol, distinguished by the flames from the spires 
and domes around ; — senseless, and clasped to his 
guardian breast, Irene was happily unconscious of the 
horrors of the time. 

“ They dare not — they dare not,” said the brave 
Colonna, “ touch a hair of that sacred head ! — if 
Rienzi fall, the liberties of Rome fall for ever ! 
As those towers that surmount the flames, the pride 
and monument of Rome, he shall rise above the 
dangers of the hour. Behold, still unscathed amidst 


622 


RIENZI 


the raging element, the Capitol itself is his em- 
blem ! ” 

Scarce had he spoken, when a vast volume of smoke 
obscured the fires afar off, a dull crash, (deadened by 
the distance) travelled to his ear, and the next moment, 
the towers on which he gazed had vanished from the 
scene, and one intense and sullen glare seemed to set- 
tle over the atmosphere, — making all Rome itself the 
funeral pyre of the Last of the Roman Tribunes! 


APPENDIX I 


SOME REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND CHARACTER 
OF RIENZI 

The principal authority from which historians have taken 
their account of the life and times of Rienzi is a very curious 
biography, by some unknown contemporary; and this, which 
is in the Roman patois of the time, has been rendered not 
quite unfamiliar to the French and English reader by the 
work of Pere du Cerceau, called “ Conjuration de Nicholas 
Gabini, dit de Rienzi,”* which has at once pillaged and de- 
formed the Roman biographer. The biography I refer to 
was published (and the errors of the former editions revised) 
by Muratori in his great collection; and has lately been re- 
printed separately in an improved text, accompanied by notes 
of much discrimination and scholastic taste, and a comment 
upon that celebrated poem of Petrarch, “ Spirto Gentil,” 
which the majority of Italian critics have concurred in con- 
sidering addressed to Rienzi, in spite of the ingenious argu- 
ments to the contrary by the Abbe de Sade. 

This biography has been generally lauded for its rare im- 
partiality. And the author does, indeed, praise and blame 
alike with a most singular appearance of stolid candour. The 
work, in truth, is one of those not uncommon proofs, of 
which Boswell’s “Johnson ” is the most striking, that a very 
valuable book may be written by a very silly man. The 
biographer of Rienzi appears more like the historian of 
Rienzi’s clothes, so minute is he on all details of their colour 
and quality — so silent is he upon everything that could throw 
light upon the motives of their wearer. In fact, granting 
the writer every desire to be impartial, he is too foolish to 
be so. It requires some cleverness to -judge accurately of a 
very clever man in very difficult circumstances; and the 

* See for a specimen of the singular blunders of the French- 
man’s work, Appendix II. 


623 


624 


APPENDIX I 


worthy biographer is utterly incapable of giving us any clue 
to the actions of Rienzi — utterly unable to explain the con- 
duct of the man by the circumstances of the time. The weak- 
ness of his vision causes him, therefore, often to squint. We 
must add to his want of wisdom a want of truth, which the 
Herodotus-like simplicity of his style frequently conceals. 
He describes things which had no witness as precisely and 
distinctly as those which he himself had seen. For instance, 
before the death of Rienzi, in those awful moments when 
the Senator was alone, unheard, unseen, he coolly informs 
us of each motion, and each thought of Rienzi’s, with as 
much detail as if Rienzi had returned from the grave to 
assist his narration. These obvious inventions have been 
adopted by Gibbon and others with more good faith than 
the laws of evidence would warrant. Still, however, to a 
patient and cautious reader the biography may furnish a 
much better notion of Rienzi’s character, than we can glean 
from the historians who have borrowed from it piecemeal. 
Such a reader will discard all the writer’s reasonings, will 
think little of his praise or blame, and regard only the facts 
he narrates, judging them true or doubtful, according as the 
writer had the opportunities of being himself the observer. 
Thus examining, the reader will find evidence sufficient of 
Rienzi’s genius and Rienzi’s failings. Carefully distinguish- 
ing between the period of his power as Tribune, and that of 
his power as Senator, he will find the Tribune vain, haughty, 
fond of display; but, despite the reasonings of the biographer, 
he will not recognise those faults in the Senator. On the 
other hand, he will notice the difference between youth and 
maturity — hope and experience; he will notice in the Tribune 
vast ambition, great schemes, enterprising activity — which 
sober into less gorgeous and more quiet colours in the por- 
trait of the Senator. He will find that in neither instance did 
Rienzi fall from his own faults — he will find that the vulgar 
moral of ambition, blasted by its own excesses, is not the true 
moral of the Roman’s life; he will find that, both in his 
abdication as Tribune, and his death as Senator, Rienzi fell 
from the vices of the People. The Tribune was a victim to 
ignorant cowardice — the Senator, a victim to ferocious 
avarice. It is this which modern historians have failed to 
represent. Gibbon records rightly, that the Count of Minor- 
bino entered Rome with one hundred and fifty soldiers, and 
barricadoed the quarter of the Colonna— that the bell of the 


APPENDIX I 


625 

Capitol sounded — that Rienzi addressed the People — that they 
were silent and inactive — and that Rienzi then abdicated the 
government. But for this he calls Rienzi “ pusillanimous.” 
Is not that epithet to be applied to the People? Rienzi in- 
voked them to move against the Robber — the People refused 
to obey. Rienzi wished to fight — the People refused to stir. 
It was not the cause of Rienzi alone which demanded their 
exertions — it was the cause of the People — theirs, not his, the 
shame, if one hundred and fifty foreign soldiers mastered 
Rome, overthrew their liberties, and restored their tyrants! 
Whatever Rienzi’s sins, whatever his unpopularity, their free- 
dom, their laws, their republic, were at stake; and these they 
surrendered to one hundred and fifty hirelings! This is the 
fact that damns them! But Rienzi was not unpopular when 
he addressed and conjured them; they found no fault with 
him. “ The sighs and the groans of the People,” says 
Sismondi, justly, “ replied to his,” — they could weep, but 
they would not fight. This strange apathy the modern his- 
torians have not accounted for. yet the principal cause was 
obvious — Rienzi was excommunicated!* In stating the fact, 


* And this curse I apprehend to have been the more 
effective in the instance of Rienzi, from a fact that it would 
be interesting and easy to establish: viz., that he owed his 
rise as much to religious as to civil causes. He aimed evi- 
dently to be a religious Reformer. All his devices, cere- 
monies, and watchwords, were of a religious character. The 
monks took part with his enterprise, and joined in the revo- 
lution. His letters are full of mystical fanaticism. His refer- 
ences to ancient heroes of Rome are always mingled with 
invocations to her Christian Saints. The Bible, at that time 
little read by the public civilians of Italy, is constantly in his 
hands, and his addresses studded with texts. His very gar- 
ments were adorned with sacred and mysterious emblems. 
No doubt, the ceremony of his Knighthood, which Gibbon 
ridicules as an act of mere vanity, was but another of his 
religious extravagances; for he peculiarly dedicated his 
Knighthood to the service of the Santo Spirito; and his 
bathing in the vase of Constantine was quite of a piece, not 
with the vanity of the Tribune, but with the extravagance 
of the Fanatic. In fact, they tried hard to prove him a 
heretic; but he escaped a charge under the mild Innocent, 
which a century or two before, or a century or two after- 
wards, would have sufficed to have sent a dozen Rienzis to 
the stake. I have dwelt the more upon this point, because, 
if it be shown that religious causes operated with those of 
liberty, we throw a new light upon the whole of that most 
40 


626 


APPENDIX I 


these writers have seemed to think that excommunication in 
Rome, in the fourteenth century, produced no effect! — the 
effect it did produce I have endeavoured in these pages to 
convey. 

The causes of the second fall and final murder of Rienzi 
are equally misstated by modern narrators. It was from no 
fault of his — no injustice, no cruelty, no extravagance — it was 
not from the execution of Montreal, nor that of Pandulfo di 
Guido — it was from a gabelle on wine and salt that he fell. To 
preserve Rome from the tyrants it was necessary to maintain 
an armed force; to pay the force a tax was necessary; the tax 
was imposed — and the multitude joined with the tyrants, and 
their cry was, “ Perish the traitor who has made the gabelle! ” 
This was their only charge — this the only crime that their 
passions and their fury could cite against him. 

The faults of Rienzi are sufficiently visible, and I have not 
unsparingly shewn them; but we must judge men, not ac- 
cording as they approach perfection, but according as their 
good or bad qualities preponderate — their talents or their 
weaknesses — the benefits they effected, the evil they wrought. 
For a man who rose to so great a power, Rienzi’s faults were 
singularly few — crimes he committed none. He is almost the 
only man who ever rose from the rank of a citizen to a 
power equal to that of monarchs without a single act of vio- 
lence or treachery. When in power, he was vain, ostenta- 
tious, and imprudent, — always an enthusiast — often a fanatic; 
but his very faults had greatness of soul, and his very fanati- 
cism at once supported his enthusiastic daring, and proved 
his earnest honesty. It is evident that no heinous charge 
could be brought against him even by his enemies, for all 
the accusations to which he was subjected, when excom- 
municated, exiled, fallen, were for two offences which Pe- 
trarch rightly deemed the proofs of his virtue and his glory: 
first, for declaring Rome to be free; secondly, for pretending 

extraordinary revolution, and its suddenness is infinitely less 
striking. The deep impression Rienzi produced upon that 
populace was thus stamped with the spirit of the religious 
enthusiast more than that of the classical demagogue. And, 
as in the time of Cromwell, the desire for temporal liberty was 
warmed and coloured by the presence of a holier and more 
spiritual fervour: — “The Good Estate” ( Buono Stato) of 
Rienzi reminds us a little of the Good Cause of General 
Cromwell. 


APPENDIX I 


627 

that the Romans had a right of choice in the election of the 
Roman Emperor.* Stern, just, and inflexible, as he was 
when Tribune, his fault was never that of wanton cruelty. 
The accusation against him, made by the gentle Petrarch, 
indeed, was, that he was not determined enough — that he did 
not consummate the revolution by exterminating the patrician 
tyrants. When Senator, he was, without sufficient ground, 
accused of avarice in the otherwise just and necessary execu- 
tion of Montreal. t It was natural enough that his enemies 
and the vulgar should suppose that he executed a creditor to 
get rid of a debt; but it was inexcusable in later, and wiser, 
and fairer writers to repeat so grave a calumny, without at 
least adding the obvious suggestion, that the avarice of Rienzi 
could have been much better gratified by sparing than by 
destroying the life of one of the richest subjects in Europe. 
Montreal, we may be quite sure, would have purchased his 
life at an immeasurably higher price than the paltry sum lent 
to Rienzi by his brothers. And this is not a probable hypoth- 
esis, but a certain fact, for we are expressly told that Mon- 
treal, “ knowing the Tribune was in want of money, offered 
Rienzi, that if he would let him go, he, Montreal, would 
furnish him not only with twenty thousand florins, (four times 
the amount of Rienzi’s debt to him,) but with as many 
soldiers and as much money as he pleased.” This offer 
Rienzi did not attend to. Would he have rejected it had 
avarice been his motive? And what culpable injustice, to 
mention the vague calumny without citing the practical con- 
tradiction! When Gibbon tells us, also, that “ the most virtu- 
ous citizen of Rome,” meaning Pandulfo, or Pandulficcio di 
Guido, $ was sacrificed to his jealousy, he a little exaggerates 

* The charge of heresy was dropped. 

t Gibbon, in mentioning the execution of Montreal, omits 
to state that Montreal was more than suspected of conspiracy 
and treason to restore the Colonna. Matthew Villani records 
it as a common belief that such truly was the offence of the 
Provencal. The biographer of Rienzi gives additional evi- 
dence of the fact. Gibbon’s knowledge of this time was 
superficial. As one instance of this, he strangely enough 
represents Montreal as the head of the first Free Company 
that desolated Italy: he took that error from the Pere du 
Cerceau. 

% Matthew Villani speaks of him as a wise and good citizen, 
of great repute among the People— and this, it seems, he 
really was. 


628 


APPENDIX I 


the expression bestowed upon Pandulfo, which is that of 
“virtuoso assai; ” and that expression, too, used by a man 
who styles the robber Montreal “ eccellente uomo — di quale 
fama suono per tutta la Italia di virtude ” * — (so good a moral 
critic was the writer!) but he also altogether waves all men- 
tion of the probabilities that are sufficiently apparent, of the 
scheming of Pandulfo to supplant Rienzi, and to obtain the 
“ Signoria del Popolo.” Still, however, if the death of Pan- 
dulfo may be considered a blot on the memory of Rienzi, it 
does not appear that it was this which led to his own fate. 
The cry of the mob surrounding his palace was not, “ Perish 
him who executed Pandulfo,” it was — and this again and 
again must be carefully noted — it was nothing more nor less 
than “ Perish him who has made the gabelle! ” 

Gibbon sneers at the military skill and courage of Rienzi. 
For this sneer there is no cause. His first attempts, his first 
rise, attested sufficiently his daring and brave spirit; in every 
danger he was present — never shrinking from a foe so long as 
he was supported by the People. He distinguished himself at 
Viterbo when in the camp of Albornoz, in several feats of 
arms,t and his end was that of a hero. So much for his 
courage; as to his military skill, it would be excusable 
enough if Rienzi — the eloquent and gifted student, called from 
the closet and the rostrum to assume the command of an 
army — should have been deficient in the art of war; yet, some- 
how or other, upon the whole, his arms prospered. He de- 
feated the chivalry of Rome at her gates; and if he did not, 
after his victory, march to Marino, for which his biographer t 
and Gibbon blame him, the reason is sufficiently clear — 
“ Volea pecunia per soldati ” — he wanted money for the 
soldiers! On his return as Senator, it must be remembered 
that he had to besiege Palestrina, which was considered even 
by the ancient Romans almost impregnable by position; but 
during the few weeks he was in power, Palestrina yielded — all 
his open enemies were defeated — the tyrants expelled — Rome 
free; and this without support from any party, Papal or Pop- 


* “ An excellent man whose fame for valour resounded 
throughout all Italy.” 
f Vit. di Col. di Rienzi, lib. ii. cap. 14. 
t In this the anonymous writer compares him gravely to 
Hannibal, who knew how to conquer, but not how to use his 
conquest. 


APPENDIX I 629 

ular; or, as Gibbon well expresses it, “ suspected by the 
People — abandoned by the Prince.” 

On regarding what Rienzi did, we must look to his means, 
to the difficulties that surrounded him, to the scantiness of his 
resources. We see a man without rank, wealth, or friends, 
raising himself to the head of a popular government in the 
metropolis of the Church — in the City of the Empire. We 
see him reject any title save that of a popular magistrate — 
establish at one stroke a free constitution — a new code of law. 
We see him first expel, then subdue, the fiercest aristocracy 
in Europe — conquer the most stubborn banditti, rule im- 
partially the most turbulent people, embruted by the violence, 
and sunk in the corruption of centuries. We see him restore 
trade — establish order — create civilisation as by a miracle — 
receive from crowned heads hbmage and congratulation — 
outwit, conciliate, or awe, the wiliest priesthood of the Papal 
Diplomacy — and raise his native city at once to sudden yet 
acknowledged eminence over every other state, its superior 
in arts, wealth, and civilisation; — we ask what errors we are 
to weigh in the opposite balance, and we find an unneces- 
sary ostentation, a fanatical extravagance, and a certain in- 
solent sternness. But what are such offences — what the 
splendour of a banquet, or the ceremony of Knighthood, 
or a few arrogant words, compared with the vices of 
almost every prince who was his contemporary? This is 
the way to judge character; we must compare men with 
men, and not with ideals of what men should be. We look 
to the amazing benefits Rienzi conferred upon his coun- 
try. We ask his means, and see but his own abilities. His 
treasury becomes impoverished — his enemies revolt — the 
Church takes advantage of his weakness — he is excommuni- 
cated — the soldiers refuse to fight — the People refuse to assist 
— the Barons ravage the country — the ways are closed, the 
provisions are cut off from Rome.* A handful of banditti 
enter the city — Rienzi proposes to resist them — the People 
desert — he abdicates. Rapine, Famine, Massacre, ensue — 
they who deserted, regret, repent — yet he is still unassisted, 
alone — now an exile, now' a prisoner, his own genius saves 
him from every peril, and restores him to greatness. He 

* “ Allora le strade furo chiuse, li massari de la terre non 
porta vano grano, ogni die nasceva nuovo rumores.” — Vit. di 
Col. Rienzi , lib. i. cap. 37. 


APPENDIX I 


630 

returns, the Pope’s Legate refuses him arms — the People re- 
fuse him money. He re-establishes law and order, expels 
the tyrants, renounces his former faults * — is prudent, wary, 
provident — reigns a few weeks — taxes the People, in support 
of the People, and is torn to pieces! One day of the rule 
that followed is sufficient to vindicate his reign and avenge 
his memory — and for centuries afterwards, whenever that 
wretched and degenerate populace dreamed of glory or sighed 
for justice, they recalled the bright vision of their own vic- 
tim, and deplored the fate of Cola di Rienzi. That he was 
not a tyrant is clear in this — when he was dead, he was bit- 
terly regretted. The People never regret a tyrant! From 
the unpopularity that springs from other faults there is often 
a reaction; but there is no reaction in the populace towards 
their betrayer or oppressor. A thousand biographies cannot 

* This, the second period of his power, has been repre- 
sented by Gibbon and others as that of his principal faults, 
and he is evidently at this time no favourite with his contem- 
poraneous biographer; but looking to what he did, we find 
amazing dexterity, prudence, and energy in the most difficult 
crisis, and none of his earlier faults. It is true, that he does 
not shew the same brilliant extravagance which, I suspect, 
dazzled his contemporaries, more than his sounder qualities; 
but we find that in a few weeks he had conquered all his pow- 
erful enemies — that his eloquence was as great as ever — his 
promptitude greater — his diligence indefatigable — his fore- 
sight unslumbering. “ He alone,” says the biographer, “ car- 
ried on the affairs of Rome, but his officials were slothful 
and cold.” This too, tortured by a painful disease — already — 
though yet young — broken and infirm. The only charges 
against him, as Senator, were the deaths of Montreal and 
Pandulfo di Guido, the imposition of the gabelle, and the 
renunciation of his former habits of rigid abstinence, for in- 
dulgence in wine and feasting. Of the first charges, the 
reader has already been enabled to form a judgment. To the 
last, alas! the reader must extend indulgence, and for it he 
may find excuse. We must compassionate even more than 
condemn the man to whom excitement has become nature, 
and who resorts to the physical stimulus or the momentary 
Lethe, when the mental exhilarations of hope, youth, and 
glory, begin to desert him. His alleged intemperance, how- 
ever, which the Romans (a peculiarly sober people) might 
perhaps exaggerate, and for which he gave the excuse of a 
thirst produced by disease contracted in the dungeon of 
Avignon — evidently and confessedly did not in the least di- 
minish his attention to business, which, according to his biog- 
rapher, was at that time greater than ever. 


APPENDIX II 


631 

decide upon the faults or merits of a ruler like the one fact, 
whether he is beloved or hated ten years after he is dead. 
But if the ruler has been murdered by the People, and is then 
regretted by them, their repentance is his acquittal. 

I have said that the moral of the Tribune’s life, and of this 
fiction, is not the stale and unprofitable moral that warns the 
ambition of an individual: — More vast, more solemn, and 
more useful, it addresses itself to nations. If I judge not 
erringly, it proclaims that, to be great and free, a People must 
trust not to individuals but themselves — that there is no sud- 
den leap from servitude to liberty — that it is to institutions, 
not to men, that they must look for reforms that last beyond 
the hour — that their own passions are the real despots they 
should subdue, their own reason the true regenerator of 
abuses. With a calm and noble people, the individual am- 
bition of a citizen can never effect evil: — to be impatient of 
chains is not to be worthy of freedom — to murder a magis- 
trate is not to ameliorate the laws.* The People write their 
own condemnation whenever they use characters of blood; 
and theirs alone the madness and the crime, if they crown 
a tyrant or butcher a victim. 


APPENDIX II 

A WORD UPON THE WORK BY PERE DU CER- 
CEAU AND PERE BRUMOY, ENTITLED “ CON- 
JURATION DE NICOLAS GABRINI, DIT DE 
RIENZI, TYRAN DE ROME” 

Shortly after the romance of “ Rienzi ” first appeared, a 
translation of the biography compiled by Cerceau and Bru- 
moy was published by Mr. Whittaker. The translator, in a 
short and courteous advertisement, observes, “ That it has 

* Rienzi was murdered because the Romans had been in 
the habit of murdering whenever they were displeased. They 
had, very shortly before, stoned one magistrate, and torn to 
pieces another. By the same causes and the same career a 
People may be made to resemble the bravo whose hand 
wanders to his knife at the smallest affront, and if to-day he 
poniards the enemy who assaults him, to-morrow he strikes 
the friend who would restrain. 


APPENDIX II 


632 

always been considered as a work of authority; and even Gib- 
bon appears to have relied on it without further research; ” * 

that, “ as a record of facts, therefore, the work will, 

it is presumed, be acceptable to the public.” The translator 
has fulfilled his duty with accuracy, elegance, and spirit, — 
and he must forgive me, if, in justice to History and Rienzi, 
I point out a very few from amongst a great many reasons, 
why the joint labour of the two worthy Jesuits cannot be con- 
sidered either a work of authority, or a record of facts. The 
translator observes in his preface, “ that the general outline 
(of Du Cerceau’s work) was probably furnished by an Italian 
life written by a contemporary of Rienzi.” The fact, how- 
ever, is, that Du Cerceau’s book is little more than a wretched 
paraphrase of that very Italian life mentioned by the trans- 
lator, — full of blunders, from ignorance of the peculiar and 
antiquated dialect in which the original is written, and of 
assumptions by the Jesuit himself, which rest upon no au- 
thority whatever. I will first shew, in support of this asser- 
tion, what the Italians themselves think of the work of 
Fathers Brumoy and Du Cerceau. The Signor Zefirino Re, 
who has proved himself singularly and minutely acquainted 
with the history of that time, and whose notes to the “ Life 
of Rienzi ” are characterised by acknowledged acuteness and 
research, thus describes the manner in which the two Jesuits 
compounded this valuable “ record of facts.” 

“ Father Du Cerceau for his work made use of a French 
translation of the life by the Italian contemporary printed in 
Bracciano, 1624, executed by Father Sanadon, another Jesuit, 
from whom he received the MS. This proves that Du 
Cerceau knew little of our ‘ volgar lingua ’ of the fourteenth 
century. But the errors into which he has run shew, that 
even that little was unknown to his guide, and still less to 
Father Brumoy, (however learned and reputed the latter 
might be in French literature) who, after the death of Du 
Cerceau, supplied the deficiencies in the first pages of the 
author’s MS., which were, I know not how, lost; and in this 
part are found the more striking errors in the work, which 
shall be noticed in the proper place; in the meantime, one 
specimen will suffice. In the third chapter, book i., Cola, 
addressing the Romans, says, * Che lo giubileo si approssima, 
che se la gente, la quale verra al giubileo, li trova sproveduti 

* Here, however, he does injustice to Gibbon. 


APPENDIX II 


633 


di annona, le pietre (per metatesi sta scritto le preite) no 
porteranno da Roma per rabbia di fame, e le pietre non 
basteranno a tanta moltitudine. II francese traduce. Le 
jubile approche, et vous n’avez ni provisions, ni vivres; les 
etrangers .... trouveront votre ville denue de tout. Ne 
comptez point sur les secours des gens d’Eglise; ils sortiront 
de la ville, s’ils n’y trouvent de quoi subsister: et d’ailleurs 
pourroient-ils suffire a la multitude innombrable qui se 
trouvera dans vos murs?’”* “ Buon Dio!” exclaims the 
learned Zefirino, “ Buon Dio! le pietre prese per tanta gente 
di chiesa! ”f 

Another blunder little less extraordinary occurs in Chap- 
ter vi., in which the ordinances of Rienzi’s Buono Stato are 
recited. 

It is set forth as the third ordinance: — “ Che nulla casa di 
Roma sia data per terra per alcuna cagione, ma vada in com- 
mune; ” which simply means, that the houses of delinquents 
should in no instance be razed, but added to the community 
or confiscated. This law being intended partly to meet the 
barbarous violences with which the excesses and quarrels of 
the Barons had half dismantled Rome, and principally to 
repeal some old penal laws by which the houses of a certain 
class of offenders might be destroyed; but the French trans- 
lator construes it, “ Que nulle maison de Rome ne saroit donnee 
en propre, pour quelque raison que ce put etre; mais que les 
revenus en appartiendroient au public! ”t 

But enough of the blunders arising from ignorance. — I 
must now be permitted to set before the reader a few of the 
graver offences of wilful assumption and preposterous in- 
vention. 

When Rienzi condemned some of the Barons to death, the 
Pere thus writes; I take the recent translation published by 
Mr. Whittaker: — 

“ The next day the Tribune, resolving more than ever to 
rid himself of his prisoners, ordered tapestries of two colours, 

* The English translator could not fail to adopt the French- 
man’s ludicrous mistake. 

t See Preface to Zefirino Re’s edition of the ‘ Life of 
Rienzi,” p. 9, note on Du Cerceau. 

t The English translator makes this law unintelligible:— 
“ That no family of Rome shall appropriate to their own use 
what they think fit. but that the revenues shall appertain to 
the public.” ! ! ! — The revenues of what? 


634 


APPENDIX II 


red and white, to be laid over the place whereon he held 
his councils, and which he had made choice of to be the 
theatre of this bloody tragedy, as the extraordinary tapestry 
seemed to declare. He afterwards sent a cordelier to every 
one of the prisoners to administer the sacraments, and then 
ordered the Capitol bell to be tolled. At that fatal sound and 
the sight of the confessors, the Lords no longer doubted of 
sentence of death being passed upon them. They all con- 
fessed except the old Colonna, and many received the com- 
munion. In the meanwhile the people, naturally prompt to 
attend , when their first impetuosity had time to calm, could not 
without pity behold the dismal preparations which were making. 
The sight of the bloody colour in the tapestry shocked them. On 
this first impression they joined in opinion in relation to so 
many illustrious heads now going to be sacrificed, and 
lamented more their unhappy catastrophe, as no crime had 
been proved upon them to render them worthy of such bar- 
barous treatment. Above all, the unfortunate Stephen Colonna, 
whose birth, age, and affable behaviour, commanded respect, ex- 
cited a particular compassion. An universal silence and sorrow 
reigned among them. Those who were nearest Rienzi discov- 
ered an alteration. They took the opportunity of imploring 
his mercy towards the prisoners in terms the most affecting 
and moving.” 

Will it be believed, that in the original from which the 
Pere Du Cerceau borrows or rather imagines this touching 
recital, there is not a single syllable about the pity of the people, 
nor their shock at the bloody colours of the tapestry, nor their 
particular compassion for the unfortunate Stephen Colonna! 
— in fine, the People are not even mentioned at all. All that 
is said is “ Some Roman citizens, (alcuni cittadini Romani), 
considering the judgment Rienzi was about to make, inter- 
posed with soft and caressing words, and at last changed the 
opinion of the Tribune; ” all the rest is the pure fiction of 
the ingenious Frenchman! Again, Du Cerceau, describing 
the appearance of the Barons at this fatal moment, says, 
“ Notwithstanding the grief and despair visible in their 
countenances, they showed a noble indignation, generally at- 
tendant on innocence in the hour of death.” What says the 
authority from which alone, except his own, the good Father 
could take his account? Why, not a word about this noble 
indignation, or this parade of innocence! The original says 
simply, that “ the Barons were so frozen with terror that they 


APPENDIX II 


635 

were unable to speak,” (diventaso si gelati che non poteano 
favellare;) “that the greater part humbled themselves,” (e 
prese penitenza e comunione;) that when Rienzi addressed 
them, “ all the Barons (come dannati) stood in sadness.” * 
Du Cerceau then proceeds to state, that “ although he 
(Rienzi) was grieved at heart to behold his victims snatched 
from him, he endeavoured to make a merit of it in the eyes 
of the People.” There is not a word of this in the original! 

So, when Rienzi, on a later occasion, placed the Prefect 
John di Vico in prison, this Jesuit says, “ To put a gloss upon 
this action before the eyes of the people, Rienzi gave out that 
the Governor, John di Vico, keeping a correspondence with 
the conspirators, came with no other view than to betray the 
Romans.” And if this scribbler, who pretends to have con- 
sulted the Vatican MSS., had looked at the most ordinary 
authorities, he would have seen that John di Vico did come 
with that view. (See for Di Vico’s secret correspondence 
with the Barons, La Cron. Bologn. p. 406; and La Cron. 
Est. p. 444.) 

Again, in the battle between the Barons and the Romans 
at the gates, Du Cerceau thus describes the conduct of the 
Tribune: — “ The Tribune, amidst his troops, knew so little of 
what had passed, that seeing at a distance one of his standards 
fall, he looked upon all as lost, and, casting up his eyes to 
heaven full of despair, cried out, ‘ O God, will you then for- 
sake me?’ But no sooner was he informed of the entire 
defeat of his enemies, than his dread and cowardice even 
turned to boldness and arrogance.” 

Now in the original all that is said of this is, “ That it is 
true that the standard of the Tribune fell — the Tribune as- 
tonished, (or if you please, dismayed, sbigottio ,) stood with his 
eyes raised to heaven, and could find no other words than, 
‘O God hast thou betrayed me?’” This evinced, perhaps, 
alarm or consternation at the fall of his standard — a con- 
sternation natural, not to a coward, but a fanatic, at such an 
event. But not a word is said about Rienzi’s cowardice in 
the action itself; it is not stated when the accident happened — 
nothing bears out the implication that the Tribune was re- 
mote from the contest, and knew little of what passed. And 
if this ignorant Frenchman had consulted any other contem- 
poraneous historian whatever, he would have found it asserted 


* See Vita di Col. di Rienzi, lib. i. cap. 29. 


APPENDIX II 


636 

by them all, that the fight was conducted with great valour, 
both by the Roman populace and their leader on one side, 
and the Barons on the other. — G. Vill. lib. xii. cap. 105; Cron. 
Sen. tom. xv. Murat, p. 119; Cron. Est. p. 444. Yet Gibbon 
rests his own sarcasm on the Tribune’s courage solely on the 
baseless exaggeration of this Pere Du Cerceau. 

So little, indeed, did this French pretender know of the 
history of the time and place he treats of, that he imagines 
the Stephen Colonna who was killed in the battle above men- 
tioned was the old Stephen Colonna, and is very pathetic 
about his “ venerable appearance,” &c. This error, with re- 
gard to a man so eminent as Stephen Colonna the elder, is 
inexcusable; for, had the priest turned over the other pages 
of the very collection in which he found the biography he 
deforms, he would have learned that old Stephen Colonna 
was alive some time after that battle. — [Cron. Sen. Murat, 
tom. xv. p. 121.] 

Again, just before Rienzi’s expulsion from the office of 
Tribune, Du Cerceau, translating in his headlong way the 
old biographer’s account of the causes of Rienzi’s loss of 
popularity, says, “ He shut himself up in his palace, and his 
presence was known only by the rigorous punishments which 
he caused his agents to inflict upon the innocent.” Not a 
word of this in the original! 

Again, after the expulsion, Du Cerceau says, that the 
Barons seized upon the “ immense riches ” he had amassed, 
—the words in the original are, “ grandi ornamenti,” which 
are very different things from immense riches. But the 
most remarkable sins of commission are in this person’s ac- 
count of the second rise and fall of Rienzi under the title 
of Senator. Of this I shall give but one instance: — 

“ The Senator, who perceived it, became only the more 
cruel. His jealousies produced only fresh murders. In the 
continual dread he was in, that the general discontent would 
terminate in some secret attempt upon his person, he de- 
termined to intimidate the most enterprising, by sacrificing 
sometimes one, sometimes another, and chiefly those whose 
riches rendered them the more guilty in his eyes. Numbers 
were sent every day to the Capitol prison. Happy were those 
who could get off with the confiscation of their estates.” 

Of these grave charges there is not a syllable in the original! 
And so much for the work of Pere Cerceau and Pere Bru- 
moy, by virtue of which, historians have written of the life 


APPENDIX II 


637 


and times of Rienzi, and upon the figments of which, the most 
remarkable man in an age crowded with great characters is 
judged by the general reader! 

I must be pardoned for this criticism, which might not 
have been necessary, had not the work to which it relates, 
in the English translation quoted from, (a translation that has 
no faults but those of the French original), been actually 
received as an historical and indisputable authority, and op- 
posed with a triumphant air to some passages in my own 
narrative which were literally taken from the authentic 
records of the time. 


THE END 

























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